


Pivotal Moment.

by Gina Callen (CALLEN37)



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hate Crimes, Hurt/Comfort, Racist Language, Temporal Paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CALLEN37/pseuds/Gina%20Callen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Callen are about to celebrate their ten year anniversary when an accident changes everything. <br/>Callen finds himself in the past and a pivotal moment in his life doesn't happen. <br/>What does this mean for the Callen that we know? </p><p>Rated M for Language, hints of abuse and racist language, (Which is NOT supported by the author, but is a part of the story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Apart from the case it had been a good day.

Sam and Callen were planning on getting together at Sam's house with Michelle and Kamran to celebrate ten years of being partners. Callen had been surprised when Sam had reminded him of the date and had made a big show about having to whole team around to celebrate.

Even Hetty was smiling at the fact that Callen and Sam were celebrating this milestone. They had hoped to get through the day without a case, but Eric's call changed that.

It was a routine case, a marine found dead, but all signs pointed to his killer being part of a gang that were regularly seen in Reseda. Callen had been here a few times growing up, and knew the area pretty well.

As soon as they had pulled up, Sam's gut was churning.

"Something's off G." He said as he got out of the car and checked his weapon.

"Come on Sam, it's Reseda; you hate this area," Callen sighed as he followed suit. "The guy is probably passed out drunk inside anyway."

"You should trust my gut." Sam groused as he moved towards the house.

"Yeah yeah," Callen rolled his eyes. "It's been ten years partner, you still don't trust my experience."

"Seriously G," Sam groaned. "You'd never be here if it weren't for me."

Callen laughed, they walked up to the door and Sam knocked.

He tried the door handle, "Federal Agents!" Sam called.

Callen watched as Sam entered the building in front of him, his weapon drawn.

The room was practically bare. "He has less stuff than you do." Sam smirked as he walked inside.

They had gone barely four steps inside when Callen noticed the wires.

"Bomb!" He yelled, pushing Sam in front of him to the door as the building around them exploded.

* * *

Callen opened his eyes, his head was killing him. "Sam…?" He groaned.

"Shut up kid." A voice growled from behind him.

Callen moved to get up, but a boot pushed him back to the ground.

"Stay down kid," the voice said again "You need to learn that being mouthy in here isn't good for ya."

"Where…?" Callen started, and stopped as he realized his voice was a good octave higher than he remembered; he looked at his hands. His knuckles were bruised and sore, but they were also small.

"What the fuck?" He cursed and got a kick to the ribs for his trouble.

"We already told you to watch your mouth, kid."

Callen coughed and swallowed the blood that threatened to spill.

He breathed a bit easier as the boot left his back and the sound of a jail cell door closed behind him.

"Where am I?" He asked again.

"Juvie kid, did you hit your head again?" The younger of the two guards asked with a modicum of concern.

Callen stood up and walked to the small sink with a polished metal mirror in the corner, he was _fifteen!_

He cupped his hand and poured some water over his face. The man whose face was so clear was fading rapidly.

A few names were in his head, slipping. Sam… Hetty… Callen could not remember the others, but these two were important to him, but he could not work out why!

* * *

Three weeks passed, and Callen could still not remember the faces to the names, but every night he would recite the names just to remember them. For Callen, names were important, because after all he did not have one.

The other boys in the detention center would laugh at his lack of a name. Some bullied him, because he had no family to visit or write to, and when the lessons were held, it was usually so the boys could write to their families. Callen was the only child there who had no-one to write to; he would spend his hour writing the names of Hetty and Sam repeatedly.

The therapist was concerned; did Callen know who his family was? He asked the boy about the names over and over again, but Callen would get more and more angry, because he could not tell the therapist what he wanted to know.

Eventually, Callen had had enough. Again, the boys went to visit families, and Callen managed to get under the wire and steal a station wagon.

Something in his gut told him this was the right thing to do, that this would be where his life would change.

Callen jumped as sirens and lights flashed behind him. This was _not_ supposed to happen; he was going to escape and live his life, free.

Callen looked back in a panic as the police car came closer.

Hitting the gas, the car sped up and jumped the curb, smashing into a streetlight.

Scrambling out of the car, Callen headed towards the street as he was chased and tackled by a police officer.

Callen looked up, praying for something to happen, for someone to save him… but as usual there was no one. No adult was there to save him, and tell him he had potential. No one to make the world a better place for him. He fell face first to the ground, defeat emanating from every pore.

* * *

"Why did ya do it kid? You only had a week left, you'd have been out and been able to make something of your life." One of the cops said as they cuffed him.

"You tried to kill us, ramming us with the car is assault with a deadly weapon, so you're gonna be tried as an adult." The other said with barely disguised glee, as he all but threw the child into the back of the patrol car.

"Your parents are gonna be so proud of you. Did you think of them before you did this kid?" The first officer said.

Callen looked away, they were not going to see him cry. "I don't got any."

"Someone, somewhere must be worried about you?" The officer said.

Callen shook his head, refusing to look at the officers as they cleaned up the scene and drove him away.

Barely ten minutes later a silver Porsche pulled up; a small woman got out and looked around.

"Bugger!" She exclaimed, but she was too late. An accident on the freeway had held her up and now, her boy was lost in the system... Again.

She headed back to the car, determined to find out this time what had happened to him.

* * *

Callen could not believe it. It had barely been two hours, but apparently the Californian justice system was working on overdrive, and he was already standing before a circuit judge. He sat, his head bowed as his pro-bono lawyer tried to plead his case.

The judge in question was annoyed; he had been visiting the detention center when his car had gone missing. He had pulled some strings, and managed to be on the bench as the case was tried. He had loved that car; he had met and courted his late wife in it, and now it was a wreck. Due solely to the actions of the sullen teenager sat in front of him.

There was no remorse in this young man's face; he just looked defeated. He knew he would make an example out of this young man, and would make sure that people knew, that trying to deliberately run down officers of the law would not go unpunished.

"G. Callen." The judge's deep baritone rumbled around the room.

Callen looked up, his eyes angry as he looked at the judge.

"Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?" He asked.

Callen shrugged, "Would it matter?"

"Don't you care about who you hurt? The judge asked "You nearly killed two police officers who were chasing you, and countless civilians who you might have hit."

Callen shrugged again; they did not care about him, and he did not care either.

It was a lie; he was hurting, but one thing was true, he was a waste of space and not one person on this planet gave a damn about him.

The judge shook his head.

"Five years." He said as he hit his gavel on the block. "Take him down."

It was the last case of the day. The recorder was tired, and did not write down where he was taken. After all, she surmised the kid had no family, and it was her last day. She just wanted to get home.

So with nothing in the system to say where he was going. Callen was shuttled off.

* * *

Hetty put down her phone, feeling frustrated She sat back at her desk, annoyed; she had missed him yet again, and now no one knew where he was. This did not seem right. Hetty put feelers out, called in every favor that she could, but it would be a good few years before Callen would show up on her radar again. Once more, she had failed his mother.

Hetty poured herself a scotch, and sadly tried to dial another number, but again nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Callen squeezed his eyes shut tight as the water hit his body.

"Turn to the left!" The voice yelled at him.

He turned as ordered.

"Turn to the right!"

Again Callen turned; finally the water stopped.

"Dry yourself off and step out for your clothes."

He and three other older men stepped out and waited.

Callen shuddered as the older man next to him looked over and although saying nothing, smiled at him. He turned, fixating his eyes on the floor.

"Jorden T." The guard called.

The man to his right stepped out. "Sir?"

"Take your clothes and move along the counter." Then the man asked Jorden T. "Clothes, underwear, and what shoe size?"

"10." Jorden T. Replied and moved on.

"Toothbrush, toothpaste, towel and bedding." The next man said.

And so it went on, until Jorden got to the end of the line, and the guard allowed him to dress.

The other three men went next, and finally it was Callen's turn, "Callen G."

"Sir?" Callen's voice had a detached edge to it, but he did as the others had.

"What shoe size?" The man behind the counter asked.

"6." Callen answered.

The man stopped, and actually focused on the boy in front of him. "Not sure we got that small, got an 8, here…" He handed Callen an extra pair of socks, "You'll have to stuff these in the toes."

By the time Callen got to the end of the line, he was struggling with the weight of the items he held.

He got dressed quickly, having to roll up the legs and sleeves of his clothing, as he was too small for the items he had been given.

"Right, all done?" The guard asked as Callen finished. "You will be sent to your cell and allocated a bunk. You will get up when you hear the buzzer in the morning. Wash, dress and tidy your area. You will then proceed to the mess hall. Tomorrow only, you will wait behind after mess to be allocated a work order. You will have one hour exercise per day, and you will be seen by the prison educational staff to see if you could benefit from any education in here. Okay, so do not talk to anyone while walking to your cell, and welcome to Fulsome." The guard smirked as he pressed the buzzer to open the doors.

* * *

Callen fixed his gaze firmly on the back of the prison guard, as they walked through the prison, trying to quell the fear inside him as the prisoners catcalled to the new arrivals.

"Callen. G, you're here." The guard opened the cell door, and Callen all but fell inside.

He stopped with his back to the bars, checking out the room for threats as a man looked down from the top bunk.

"Hey, I ain't no babysitter!" he yelled annoyed at the guard.

"I ain't no baby." Callen snapped as he threw his stuff on the bottom bunk.

Dallas smiled at the kid. "You got guts kid. What's your name?"

"Callen."

"Callen…?" Dallas indicated for him to say his other name

"Just Callen." Callen replied, making his bed quickly.

"Mines Dallas Alder," the older man said "You can call me Dallas."

Dallas looked at the boy, "What you in for?" He asked. The kid could not be more than a teenager, surely he ought not to be in an adult prison.

Dallas had had a son of his own, but the boy had been killed by a man in a drive by shooting. His son would have been around Callen's age about now.

Callen shrugged, "Stole a car, nearly killed two cops."

"You mean to kill them boy?" Dallas asked.

Callen lay back on his bunk. "Didn't think about it, I just wanted to get away."

Dallas lay back as the lights went out, "You'll be okay kid. Don't you worry." He said kindly.

But Callen could get no sleep that night.

* * *

The next morning, the lights went on at six am, and Dallas sat up in his bunk.

"You awake kid?" He asked.

Callen nodded, "Yeah."

"You sleep any?" Dallas asked, jumping down from his bunk and quickly making his bed. He noticed that Callen's bed was already made, so he suspected that he had not slept. "You missing your mom and pop?"

Callen gave a sour laugh, "No more than they miss me; I don't have any parents. No one to miss me, no family."

"Well, you have a family now," Dallas said earnestly. "No one should be alone in the world. Those people that threw you away should be shot."

Callen looked at him confused. "Why?"

Dallas shook his head, "There ain't no one been caring for you ever boy?"

"Been in the system as long as I could remember," Callen admitted,then suddenly, the jail cell door rattled open with a clang, making him jump.

"Come on son, let's get washed up and get some food."

"I'm not your son!" Callen glared at his cellmate.

Dallas smiled, "In here we are a family, in this block especially."

Callen followed him and stayed close to the man. He could sense that even though Dallas may have been dangerous, he seemed to really worry about him.

Callen could not help but stare, as Dallas walked up to the row of sinks without his shirt on.

"You staring boy?" Dallas asked.

Callen shook his head, "No, sir."

Dallas backhanded him, and he slid across the floor to the wall.

"Don't ya ever lie to me boy! You lie to the screws, you can lie to those no good therapists that come here and try and tell us that we are bad people, but ya don't ever lie to family. You got that!"

Callen wiped the blood spilling from the cut on his lip with the back of his hand and glared at Dallas.

"I'm… I'm sorry," He whimpered "I was just looking at the tattoos; I just wondered if it hurt to get one."

"Maybe, if you're good enough, we will see about getting you one."

Callen read the words on his back, "Aryan Brotherhood?" He asked.

"It's our family," Dallas said. "We look out for each other, we keep each other safe from the evil forces in the world."

"Evil?"

"Blacks boy, Niggers… they take our women, take our jobs and kill our children."

Callen thought about it, his judge had been black, his last foster parent had been white and he had been mean... But his foster mom had been black and she was nice."

"Not all…" Callen started.

"Don't you believe those propaganda lies!" Dallas snapped. "You wanna survive in here boy, you need a family to look out for ya. Most of the niggers in here are drug dealers, ya don't wanna get caught up using that shit."

* * *

Dallas walked into the stall to take care of business, and shut the door, leaving Callen alone in the bathroom.

As he turned to the sink to brush his teeth, a large arm came around him, and he found himself pinned to the sink.

"Hey there pretty boy, you fresh meat?" A large African American man breathed in his ear. "You make a sound and I'll gut ya boy, you get me?"

Callen's eyes went wide and he trembled in fear and nodded his head, then jumped as the man's hands slid down to the top of his trousers, and he shifted trying to get away.

"No…" He mumbled around his toothbrush.

The door behind him crashed open and Callen felt the weight of the man suddenly pulled from him.

" ** _YOU DON'T TOUCH HIM!_** " Dallas yelled as he punched the man in the face.

Callen looked up in surprise as Dallas hit the man a few more times.

"You go back to your kind and you tell them this here is Dallas' boy, he's off limits. **NO ONE** touches him!"

The man shook with fear and nodded as he scrambled away.

Callen, unfortunately no stranger to what had happened, turned to Dallas. "I'm your boy? So, you gonna do that to me then?" He asked, his eyes sad but his voice resigned to whatever would come next.

"Never." Dallas said as he helped Callen to his feet and took the washcloth to wipe the blood from the boy's face. "No one ain't ever gonna hurt you while I am around, you're my boy do you understand?"

Dallas had already told Callen not to lie to him, so Callen shook his head.

"The Aryans are not a gang, we are a family. A family that sticks together. You need that boy, you need a family. From now on I am your father and I will treat you the way a son should be treated. You will learn right from wrong and I will do everything in my power to help you be a good Aryan boy, a fighter for the cause. If that's what you want?"

Callen looked over at the trail of blood that had left the bathroom and felt the pain in his lip where it was still slightly bleeding. He did not want any more run ins like that again. Dallas was offering him the one thing he wanted more than anything else, a family.

Callen nodded and Dallas smiled.

"Good… Now you wanna tell me your first name?"

Callen shrugged, "I don't know it; I've only ever been called G."

"Well G is a great name; it's unique like Dallas." Dallas smiled. "My papa called me Dallas after the city, he was a Texas boy born and bred." He said proudly.

"I'm called G, after the name on the bag I had with me when I was found." Callen told him. "It's an old army kit bag, and it says Callen. G on it. I think maybe my father was a serviceman."

His own words surprised him, as it was more than he had ever shared with anyone.

"Well, even if your parents are not around now, I was raised not to disrespect my elders." Dallas said. "So I will call you G."

"Really?" Callen sounded surprised. "No one has ever called me G before, just Callen."

"You ever been around family before?" Dallas asked with a small smile.

Callen shook his head, "No, sir." He replied.

"Well, now ya is." His cellmate said. "You call me Dallas and I will call you G. Only family gets to do that."

Callen smiled as Dallas helped him clear up his wash things.

"Come on son," Dallas said. "The chow here ain't perfect, but it's filling and good."

* * *

Dallas led Callen back to their cell, before heading to the mess hall for food.

Callen quickly realized he was the youngest one there. He moved closer to Dallas as they entered the mess hall for breakfast.

" ** _OOOOWWWHHHEEEE! FRESH MEAT!_** " a man yelled from across the room.

Dallas glared, and the man who had been in the bathroom earlier walked over to the other man and shook his head.

"That's Dallas' boy," he advised. "Ya'll don't be touchin' him."

Callen moved closer to Dallas' side.

"Here boy, I know what's good. Ya'll just follow my lead." Dallas said, handing him a molded tray. Callen nodded, and had exactly the same as his mentor.

By the time the meal had finished, a few members of the Aryan Brotherhood had come over to introduce themselves to Callen, and he was a lot more relaxed. After all, this was so much better than life on the outside; he had a family here, he had a bed, three hot meals and no social worker. For Callen, life could not get any better.

He even had a protector, someone who would ensure that as long as he never mouthed off, or do something to offend the brotherhood, that he would be safe, no more abuse.

* * *

Callen lay back on his bed, having gone through the orientation process for the day, and over dinner had told Dallas that he had been signed up for a job and basic education classes.

Dallas had said something that had made Callen smile and his eyes well up with tears, he had ruffled Callen's head and just said, "I'm proud of ya son, ya did good." Then he had climbed into his bunk.

Grinning insanely, Callen had climbed onto his own bunk and swiped away a few happy tears.

Yeah, here, life was good.


	3. Chapter 3

Time passed slowly inside, and for two years Callen did as he was asked. He obeyed the prison rules, and more importantly, obeyed Dallas' rules.

Keeping his head down and avoiding all the other gangs in the prison was easy while Dallas had his back. His new found family were there for him too. It was, for Callen, a much better life than he had ever known before.

The only thing about being a part of the Aryan Brotherhood that didn't sit well with him was the words that Dallas and the others used towards the black men in the jail. Apart from the odd run in with a few inmates no one had really bothered him. Callen tended to stay out of the fights between the Aryan Brotherhood and the United Blood Nation that would regularly happen in the exercise yard.

Just after exercise for the day, Callen walked into his and Dallas' cell, as the guard walked to his door.

"Callen G." The guard said.

Callen looked at Dallas, who nodded in greeting, and giving him permission to reply.

"Sir?" Callen asked.

"You're wanted by the warden." The guard said.

Dallas looked concerned, but said nothing as Callen was led away.

* * *

Callen followed the guard down the hallways, but instead of turning towards the administration offices, he was taken around the back of the building.

"Wait there." The guard said, and walked off.

Callen stood uneasily as he waited, within moments a group of five men walked around the corner, two keeping an eye out and three walking over to Callen.

"Well, looky what we got here!" The leader of the men exclaimed. "It's that white honkeys boy toy."

Callen moved back, bracing himself for a fight.

"You not as vocal without ya family here to back you up, kid?" The man said.

"I ain't talking to you nigger." Callen growled, he was alone, but he had the pride of the Brotherhood to maintain and he wasn't going to let Dallas down.

"You gonna call me that white boy, without ya pappy here to wipe ya ass?" Marcus, the leader of The United Blood Nation replied. "Dallas crossed me boy, yo family hurt one of my boys. It's payback time. You white Aryans' gonna learn ya don't mess with the Blood Nation."

"I didn't hurt no one." Callen insisted, moving away.

"Youze a family though; one hurt us, y'all hurt." Marcus nodded to the two men with him, and they systematically started hitting Callen. "Don't ya kill him boys," Marcus ordered. "We wanna make sure Dallas knows his men should keep away from Blood matters."

Callen balled his hands into fists and fought back, until he was overpowered by a kick to the back of the head.

* * *

" _ **GET OFF ME!**_ " Callen screamed as he felt someone else's hands on him.

"Easy kid, ya in the infirmary." An unfamiliar voice came.

Callen thrashed back and forth, " _ **Lemme go!**_ "

"G stop." Dallas' voice cut through the fog.

"Da…" Callen groaned.

"Yeah, kid, ya gonna be ok, let the doc help you." Dallas ordered.

"What happened?" A different voice said.

Callen cracked open his swollen eye and looked over at the warden. He flinched as he looked at the African American man standing behind Dallas.

" _Don't touch him!_ " Callen snarled and launched for the warden.

"It's ok Callen, that's the warden." The doctor reassured him. "He just wants to talk to you."

"I'm sorry," The warden said. "We've had a prison escape and we think you were targeted to cause a riot to disguise the escape."

"Who?" Callen croaked.

 _Someone had escaped; why would anyone want to do that?_ Callen thought, confused.

"New guy, Godwin." Dallas told him. "When he gets back here, he'll pay for starting this."

"Godwin a nigger?" Callen asked.

"Son!" The warden exclaimed. "Godwin was not a black man, and terms like that are not appreciated here."

Callen shrugged, and winced at the same time, "So why me?"

"We think it's because you are the youngest inmate here, and possibly because you are a gang member."

"I ain't in no gang, it's a family… Sir." Callen tacked the last word on as an afterthought, earning a look of pride from Dallas.

The warden sighed, he had men out looking for the escaped convict all night, and although he had meant to see his youngest inmate earlier, he had slipped through the cracks in the system until he had been found semi conscious a few hours ago.

"So you knew nothing about Godwin's escape?" The warden pushed.

Callen shook his head and groaned, "Ain't never heard of him… _Sir_ …"

"Alright Callen, but we are keeping an eye on you." The warden stated. "You put a foot wrong and we'll know about it."

"Me?!" Callen levered himself up and opened his swollen bloodshot eye further. "What about the Blood Nation? _They_ did this to me!"

"I don't have any witnesses to your _alleged_ assault, you find me someone who'll talk and I'll prosecute them."

The warden turned and Callen saw red.

"Fucking Niggers all stickin' together…" He spat angrily.

Dallas' hands clenched as the warden turned and walked over to the boy.

"Doctor, when he is patched up, Callen is to be put into solitary for six weeks." He looked into the boy's eyes, "You will learn to be respectful boy."

Callen opened his mouth to argue back, but a short shake of Dallas' head stopped him.

"Alder, you can have ten minutes with your cell mate, then return to your cell."

"Yessir." Dallas replied.

After the warden had left, Dallas sat next to him.

"Ya did good boy, but sometimes ya gotta pick your battles." Dallas pointed out. "You heal and then do your six weeks. We'll be waitin' for ya when ya get out. Don't ya'll worry now."

"What about those Niggers?" Callen asked.

Dallas smiled a cold, cruel smile. "You won't see them again." He promised.

Callen smiled as he drifted off to sleep, trusting in Dallas' words.

* * *

Six weeks later, his bruises were fading to a light yellow, and Callen was finally released from solitary.

He had missed Dallas and the rest of the Aryan Brotherhood, but he had used his time in solitary wisely, building up his defenses and his strength.

He planned that when he got out, he was going to take revenge for his beating.

He followed the guard back to his cell, and looked around for Dallas, he was not happy to see a new man looking down at him from the top bunk.

"Who are you?" He asked. "Where's Dallas?"

The man shrugged and sat up on his bunk.

"Hey G." one of the brotherhood, Andy Edwards, walked up to him. "You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?" Callen asked worried.

"Dallas is in the hole, but he got them niggers that went for ya."

"He did?" Callen asked surprised.

Andy nodded, "Sure kid, he's got another ten years added on, but they're all dead, all three of them."

"There were five." Callen snapped and then looked apologetic at Dallas' number two.

"We know kid," Andy replied. "Dallas said to save them for you, but not yet ok; ya gotta wait for him."

Callen nodded. "Okay Andy." He put his stuff down on his bunk, and looked up at the guy in Dallas' place. "Who's the placeholder?" Callen asked.

"Name's Grant, Owen Grant." The older man replied.

He waited for Callen to tell him his name, but he ignored the older man in deference to the other men coming to check on him.

Grant looked surprised at the amount of respect the boy had in the group.

* * *

This was certainly not what he had expected when he had received the call from Hetty, to go undercover at the prison to find out how this boy was doing.

Owen Granger watched as Callen placed his things back, and all day people came by, to see if he was alright and pay their respects.

Callen, for his part ignored the new guy as soon as he realized he was just a placeholder, and not a member of the brotherhood.

Callen found himself not trusting this new man at all. Grant was watching him too intently, and he found him once or twice watching him when he had no reason to be.

This man would be watching him when he was coming back from the education block, or when he was walking in the exercise yard. Although out there he stuck with family mostly, Grant would find excuses to take him aside and try and talk to him. He would make Callen think about the words he was using and the image he portrayed.

After every conversation, Callen got angrier and angrier.

Eventually, after lights out, Callen was lying in his bed as Grant was talking to him again. "Listen kid, you have a good future you know. You could go far, you just need to adjust your attitude a little."

"What the Hell does my attitude have to do with you?" Callen snapped.

"Nothing really, but I wouldn't want you to keep hanging out with these guys. You could do so much better." Granger prodded, not honestly believing his words.

"These guys are my family." Callen snarled. "They want me and _they_ care about me. Why should I listen to you? You're just some jerk put in here to make use of Dallas' bed. When he finds out what you've been saying he'll make you pay."

"Listen Callen, I'm not telling you what to do," Granger said. "I'm just letting you know that there are people out there who care about you. People who worry."

Callen laughed and lay back on his bunk. "You been mixing with the junkies?" He stuck his head out the side of the bunk and look up at him, "You got any left?" he asked hopefully.

Granger leaned over and looked back at the boy. "You don't do drugs do you?" He asked, real concern lacing his voice.

"Na… Dallas says I don't need that shit. Better a clear head than chase the dragon."

"Dallas is right." Granger said begrudgingly. "You have a bright future ahead of you."

"I know." Callen grinned. "Dallas said that one day I could run a whole chapter of the Aryan Brotherhood and have people under me and everything."

Granger winced, that was not what he had meant.

"You could be even more than that." He prompted.

"What more is there?" Callen sat up again. "I ain't gonna be any more than I am. Besides, Dallas was the first person to care about me; why would I abandon him and my family?"

"Because maybe there are other people out there who care about you and want you to succeed." Granger sighed.

Callen gave a short, barked laugh, "Yeah… right… and where were these ' _concerned'_ people when I was being abused, beaten, shuttled from home to home? Where were they when I asked who my mother and father were?" Callen got up and leaned over the top bunk to stare his cell mate angrily in the eye. "Come on Grant, you know so much… tell me, where were they when I was running from the cops and I needed help? _**WHERE WERE THEY!**_ " He yelled and there was a shout from further down the cell block to be quiet.

"I'll tell ya shall I?" Callen hissed as he slammed himself back down onto his bunk. " _Nowhere_ , because until I met Dallas, no one gave a damn."

Callen turned away, burying his head in his pillow as Granger sighed.

Hetty was right; she had failed the boy and she was not here to listen to his quiet sobs.

Granger knew that Hetty had some sort of vested interest in the boy, but she refused to say what. Over the weeks he spent with Callen in prison, he had studied the boy carefully. He looked nothing like Hetty, so not a son, but she was desperate to get the boy released from the system into her care. Although so far, all of her efforts had been in vain.


	4. Chapter 4

Granger paced the room as Hetty and the warden sat watching him.

"I can't believe you have your eye on this kid Henrietta!" Owen stressed. "He's rude, he's racist, he's completely screwed up and you think he has potential?! The potential to be what?

"He has the breeding and potential to be a great agent, if given the chance Owen." Hetty said from her seat behind the warden's desk.

Owen stopped and looked at Hetty incredulously. "You are kidding me, right?" he asked.

Hetty shook her head. "You don't know anything about him Owen; he needs to be helped."

"Helped? He's one more arrest away from being on death row; his ambition is to become the leader of the Aryan Brotherhood! I don't think there is a chance he can be saved." Owen said honestly.

"Do you think if I talked to him I could change his mind?" Hetty asked.

Granger stopped and looked at his friend sadly.

"The only good thing I can tell you about that boy is that he isn't doing drugs right now." Owen sighed. "Not sure how long I can keep saying that. He wants to make Dallas proud of him."

"I don't like the way Dallas is manipulating him. Can we have him moved to a different prison?" Hetty asked, turning to the warden.

The warden thought about it for a second. "I would like nothing more; this Aryan Brotherhood is getting too big," he admitted. "This would shake them up a bit."

"I don't think it's a good idea!" Owen argued.

"Why not?" Hetty asked.

"Callen, he trusts Dallas, and he might not survive without him to be there."

"There will be a void," Hetty smiled, "which you could fill," she prompted.

"Me?" Granger looked angry. "I'm supposed to be out of here by the end of the week; I'm undercover, not incarcerated."

"Until I can get Mr. Callen out of this institution I need eyes and ears inside." Hetty stressed.

"I am doing this as a favor Hetty." Granger argued. "There are loads of kids like him in places like this. I don't see why you are going all out for this one child?"

Hetty looked away guiltily. "I need to do this, I need to meet with him."

"How?" Granger looked worried. "I can't set you up with a meeting with him without blowing my cover."

"I don't know," Hetty sighed. Owen was right; his cover would be blown and Callen would never trust her now. If only she had not been late that day, if only things had been different. "I just can't lose him… not again." She said sadly.

Owen wondered about her statement; even when he was back in the cell, how was she related to Callen?

* * *

Callen paced the cell.

Dallas was due back in a few days, Grant would be gone and that was going to be fine by him.

Grant was like an annoying whisper in his ear. Every time Callen said anything that was in Grant's opinion, not a good idea, the man would say something.

Callen found himself second guessing everything Dallas had taught him, Grant's words worming their way into his head.

"You know all people are basically the same kid," Grant told him. "All they want is a chance."

Callen snorted, "Yeah, well, no one in here is that lucky are they… what did you do to get put in here anyway?" He asked, realizing that he hadn't asked the other man yet.

Granger thought fast; it had been a quick insert and he was unsure what they had put on his rap sheet.

"Armed Assault, shot a man who was beating on a kid." He answered, hoping Callen would warm to him even a tiny bit.

"Why?" Callen asked. "Your kid?"

Granger shook his head, "No, foster kid from a few doors up. The family were mean sons of bitches; kept beatin' on him every day. Poor kid had done nothing to deserve it."

"Not your problem," Callen sighed. "You should have left him, you've probably caused that kid so much more trouble." Callen looked over at Grant. "You been a rental kid?" He asked.

Granger understood the metaphor and nodded, "I was for a while." He had read Callen's social services record before going in, and used that as his basis.

Callen sat up on his bunk and turned to look at Grant, who was sitting on the chair. "You were?" he asked in surprise then he sighed again, "You must have been adopted."

"Why do you say that?" Grant asked.

Callen laughed sourly, "You're still alive. I know for a fact the unadoptable kids get put into the bad homes, then they get killed or sold."

"Who told you that?" Granger asked surprised.

Callen cocked his head to one side. "You never heard? I've been told that all the time. The only kids who make it are the one's who have parents, someone who cares."

"Everyone has parents." Granger told him.

"Yeah, and mine were fucking saints." Callen laughed sarcastically. "Seriously, who drops their kid on the street with no name? I had a bag, a few items of clothes… a book that doesn't even have real words in it, and my name such as they gave me on the bag."

"So no clues as to who they were?" Granger asked. He hoped that if Callen could tell him something, he could figure out why Hetty was so interested in the boy.

Callen shook his head. "Nope, but if they had cared, they would have put a note in, or at least written my full name on the bag. They didn't even care enough to give me that." Callen stood up, and shook himself as if to rid himself of the demons that were crawling up him again. "Enough of this; I'm hungry and it's nearly food time."

Callen turned to the door and a guard stood there.

"Callen. G, Warden wants to see you." The guard said.

Callen blanched. "No… not again." He took a step back.

The guard handed him a piece of paper. "Warden said to give this to you."

Callen read the note, which reassured him that this time, it was indeed the warden who wanted to see him. He shrugged, damping down the worry he had, and shot a smirk at Granger, "Gotta go tell the Warden how to do his job."

For a second, he wondered about the shocked look on his cell mate's face, but hid it as the guard motioned for Callen to follow him.

* * *

Granger followed Callen's retreating form down the corridor.

"Well, I'll be damned. Hetty, you sly fox, Clara's kid! No wonder you wouldn't tell me."

He made a mental note to ask as soon as he could, but the name Callen had sounded familiar when he had heard it, and the look Callen had given him just then, had reminded Granger of when he had last seen Clara Callen, she had been leaving for her assignment in Romania, and she had told him she was going.

Granger had been concerned about Clara's assignment, as she was not going to be partnered with him; he was due to testify in a case in Washington.

Clara's new partner was a seasoned agent as far as Owen could tell, but he had been worried.

Clara's last word to him had been, "Don't worry Owen, I'll be back soon; someone's gotta tell you how to do your job." And with that same smirk as her son, she had walked out of the door laughing.

Granger brought his thoughts back to the present as he sat in the cell, he needed to find out if his suspicions were correct. He took out a piece of paper, and wrote down what he knew. Callen was 17, so he must have been born early in 1970. The boy must have been born during the operation in Romania, so who was his father? Clara had gone missing in 1967, so where had she been? Where was she now?

The questions went round and round in his head; he could not wait until his next scheduled check in, because he needed answers and he needed them now.

Granger got up, walked out of his cell and down to the telephone boxes. He waited to see the guard at the door before the communal area.

"I need to make a call." Owen said gruffly.

"You got a permission slip?" The guard asked.

Luckily, Owen had grabbed one of a stack of slips the warden had given him. He handed it over and was allowed into the phone area. He dialed the number given, and waited until it was answered.

"We need to meet." He said curtly.

"Is Mr. Callen alright?" Hetty asked.

"I know who he is… who he is to Clara." Owen requested. "I want to know who is he to you. Why is he here? Hetty, I need to know where his mother is?"

"I'll talk to the warden. I am not doing this over the phone… I will…"

The phone went dead, and an automated voice came over the speakers.

"All calls are terminated. All Prisoners will return to their cells."

* * *

Granger groaned, he hated this. He hated not having the freedom to do his job.

He turned and headed back to his cell. As he looked over towards the main hall, he saw someone in the middle of a fight, and someone else being pulled off the prone body on the floor.

"LET ME GO!" Callen's voice was loud and clear as he screamed obscenities to the man lying prone on the floor. "You're a lying sack of shit Nigger! I'm gonna kill you!" he screamed as the guards pulled him off.

The leader of the united blood nation stood up. "You may have been Dallas Alder's boy toy, but you're fresh meat now. Dallas is gone. He's dead boy. We killed him."

Callen snarled like a wounded animal, and launched himself at the man.

" _Callen!_ " Granger tried to go to him, but the guard stopped him. "Back to your cell." He ordered.

Callen's snarling and yelling stopped, as a guard hit him on the back of his head with a nightstick and he went down with a bang.

"Dammit Callen." Granger cursed under his breath as he was herded back to his cell.

* * *

Granger paced his cell as information was called up and down his block.

"Anyone heard anything about the kid?" He called as he waited.

"No." Was the resounding reply back.

" _Guards…_ " The word was hissed in warning, as the door at the end of the hall was opened and they entered.

"G? G You ok kid?" Andy's voice was heard from the far end of the hallway, which got Grangers attention.

"Callen!" His name was called by various members of the brotherhood as the guards got closer. "What they done to ya boy."

"Dallas ain't gonna like this!" Andy yelled.

"Dallas has been transferred to Oakville." The guard said. "Some fool told the kid Dallas was gone and he went postal."

"So ya hurt him?"

"He was killing an inmate; be glad we didn't put him back in solitary."

They stopped and unlocked Callen's cell.

"Move to the back of the cell." The guard ordered to Granger, who did as he was told.

"He needs medical attention." Granger said, looking at the dried blood on the back of his young cell mate's neck.

"He needs a straight jacket, this kid is crazy." The guard replied. "When he wakes up, you tell him one more infraction out of him and we'll drop him in the hole for so long he'll forget his own name."

The guard laughed at his own joke while Owen glared at him.

They dropped the unconscious boy on the bed and walked out.

"KEEP IT DOWN!" The guard yelled to the rowdy prisoners as they left. "Ya haven't got your leader anymore; The Aryan Brotherhood is disbanded by order of the warden."

After the guards had left, Granger moved to check on Callen, who lay unconscious on the bed as Owen took a cloth, wet it in water and wiped the blood off the boy.

"Oh, Clara… what happened to your boy?" He sighed softly as Callen started to come to.

"Callen?" Owen said softly.

"IS HE OK? Grant talk to me!" Andy's voice echoed down the hallway.

Granger stood up and walked to the bars. "He's out cold, but I think he's gonna be ok."

He stopped as Callen groaned. Hopefully, with Granger being there and helping, Callen would finally start to trust him.

Callen groaned again as he moved his head.

"No… Dallas… don't… alone… no…"

Granger moved to put the wet cloth on Callen's forehead, "It's ok Callen… you're not alone."

"Dallas…?" Callen let out a sob. "Dallas… I'm sorry… should have… killed… me…"


	5. Chapter 5

Callen woke up with a pain in his chest, he curled himself into a ball and whimpered.

Within seconds, Owen had moved from his spot on the chair to Callen's bedside. "Kid? You ok?" He was relieved to see he was awake. Callen had been out cold for two days. The doctor had been in to see him, but had said he was fine, so had left him there with Owen supervising him.

"Don't… hurts…" Callen said, moving away from Owen's hand that had just touched his shoulder.

"Are you injured?" Granger asked. "Do you want me to call the guards?"

Callen shook his head, and moved as far as he could away from Granger, turning so his back was against the wall. He looked at his cellmate, distrusting him intently.

Granger put a cloth in cold water, wrung it out and held it out towards Callen so he could clean his face.

Callen shook his head, "Can't…" he gasped. "Can't breathe…"

"I'll get a guard." Owen stood.

"No! No guard… _please._ " Callen gasped.

Owen cursed to himself; that boy was as stubborn as his mother.

"Callen, come on son." Owen stressed to his young cellmate. "If you can't breathe you, need a paramedic; we have to call the guards."

Callen shook his head, "Had this pain once before; not sure why…" He stopped as he clutched his chest breathing heavily. "It goes away… like all pain…"

Owen sat and watched, as he realized Callen was either suffering from grief or a panic attack.

"Just breathe slowly." He advised.

Owen went to put his hand on Callen's chest to help him regulate his breathing, but the boy jumped and moved further away. "I'm sorry, I wasn't gonna hurt you," Owen promised. "I just wanted you to match your breathing with mine. It helps."

Callen shook his head; he could only vaguely remember being small.

Something happened, and then there was the pain and he was alone.

Again he had the pain, but now Dallas was not here. Dallas, the only person to even slightly show an interest in his well being, was gone. Again he was alone.

* * *

Callen did not even realize he was crying, as he curled in on himself trying to get his chest to stop hurting.

"What happened?" Owen asked.

Callen looked over at this man, again, he was showing an interest in him. Trying to make out like he was concerned. Why? What was his angle?

"Nothing unusual," Callen shrugged. "I'm alone, they beat me, it's life."

"It's not life Callen" Owen tried to convince him. " You can be better than this, you just need to trust someone."

"Trust? Trust who, _y_ _ou_?" He painfully pulled himself upright and glared at Owen. "I don't even know you, and you don't know me; why would you care?"

"Why did Dallas care?" Owen pushed.

"Because…" Callen's reply trailed off, he actually had no idea why Dallas had cared. "He said I reminded him of his son."

"You sure Dallas had a son?" Owen questioned, raising his eyebrows. "Let's face it kid, right place, right time. Vulnerable kid, ripe to be turned to the cause, to support the Aryan Brotherhood. A word in the right ear, and they have a young recruit who will gladly die for the gang. You've been turned by them and they'll lead you down a bad road." Owen counseled.

Callen shook his head, "It's not like that at all, you don't know anything. The Brotherhood is a family…"

"There is no Brotherhood," Owen stated. "The warden has disbanded it. They've been moved on, Dallas was…"

"I _know_ he was killed by those niggers; I'm gonna get justice for him!"

"Callen, Dallas isn't dead, he was sent to Oakville." Owen informed him. "He's been moved because he killed those men."

"They weren't men, they were niggers." Callen snapped.

"They were _men_ , just like you." Owen said, annoyed as Callen shook his head in denial. "Yes, they were. They had people who cared about them, lives to live, the only difference between you and them was the color of their skin."

"I… I don't care. They don't care about me, they didn't care that I was a person when they beat me." Callen argued. "No one cares about how I feel when they hurt me, so why should I care. Dallas was the first one who actually cared about me. He wasn't lying to me, _he wouldn't_!"

Callen folded his hands and sat back in his bunk, his whole body language screaming distrust and fear.

"I know you don't know it, but there are people who care about you and who want you to succeed."

Callen looked at Granger inquisitively, "That's not the first time you've said that… who are you?"

Inwardly, Owen cursed at the fact the boy had seen right through him. "I'm your cellmate," he answered. "I've been where you are now and I made mistakes, but I know there is better out there and you are young enough to make the right choices." He argued.

"If I made the right choices now, nothing would change." Callen argued back. "Dallas won't come back. One thing I have learned is that when people tire of you, they leave and they usually never come back."

"Maybe he'll do better in Oakville and he may get paroled." Owen said hopefully. "You could look at this like a fresh start, a chance for you to change."

Callen looked at him with thinly veiled anger. "Why do you care what happens to me? He asked suspiciously No one before Dallas cared; why would you?"

Owen got up, and leaned against the bars of the cell, his back to the boy, Callen sure knew how to push his buttons.

"Why don't you believe me when I say that people want to help you?" Owen sighed as he looked out at the other cells.

* * *

While Callen had been unconscious, the warden had been enacting Hetty's suggestion, and the members of the Aryan Brotherhood had been transferred to other prisons to split them up. This block was practically empty now. Just Granger, Callen and a few other short term inmates.

"Why should they want to help me? What's so different now?" Callen painfully eased himself up and looked out. Surprise that most of the cells were empty washed for an instant over his face. For a second, he wondered where everyone had gone, then he remembered they had been moved, the warden had moved his family away from him.

Not saying a word, and wrapping his arms around him in a self comforting gesture, Callen moved to sit on the bed as the alarm sounded, and the doors were unlocked for the day.

"You up to eating?" Owen asked.

Callen did not answer, he simply stood up, and headed to the showers, just as he had most mornings since he had been incarcerated. He washed, put his laundry in the large hamper, and headed back to his cell to put his wash things in his footlocker.

He did not even glance at Owen as he stood up, but he did follow into the mess hall as he was told to do, as the guards walked up and down the cell block, making sure everyone left for the morning.

By the end of the day, Owen was worried. Callen had stopped talking or interacting with anyone, more than was required by prison rules. The boy was picking at his food, and it had not been difficult to see how shocked he was that the people he had begun to think of as family were no longer there, nor was it difficult to see the pain on his face.

Owen now realized that he had been right. Removing all the major players in the Aryan Brotherhood had been a bad idea. Not only was Callen becoming insular, but the cat calls and threats from the members of the Blood Nation had increased.

He stayed as close to the boy as he could, but Callen was withdrawing from everyone.

Granger had sent a message to Hetty, she had caused this, so she should think about something to help the boy. Over the last month, Callen had gotten thinner and looked positively ill. He had refused a visit to the warden, which had resulted in his hitting a prison guard and a week in the hole.

* * *

 _ **"Mail Call!"**_ The guard called, as he walked into the mess room a month later. He started calling random names.

"Grant O." The guard called.

Owen took his letter, hopefully it was from Hetty getting him out of there. He was finding himself caring about this boy more and more, and he was not liking it. He had to remind himself that this was a job, and eventually he would have to walk away.

"Callen. G." The guard called.

"What?" Callen snapped.

"Mail kid." The guard slapped two letters down on the table in front of him, and Callen stared at them.

"You okay?" Owen asked.

Callen shook his head. "Who would be writing to me?"

He opened the first one and read it. "Figures." He said and screwed it up, he did not even bother to open the second one, and walked away from the table.

For a moment Owen, wanted to follow him, but he waited until Callen had gone and picked up the letter, flattening it out to read it.

_G. Callen._

_This is to inform you that as of March 3rd, 1988 you will no longer be under the auspices of Child Services._

_On release from detention you will be responsible for finding your own accommodation._

_Your file will be held for a maximum of seven years should you wish or need to take any information from it. If you wish to see your file, please submit a request in writing to the address above._

_A social worker will be visiting you in_ _your current foster placement._ _Fulsome Prison, to complete your leaving care paperwork._

_J. Lucas_

_Los Angeles County Child Services Dept._

"Damn!" Owen said aloud. "That's harsh." He picked up the letter, and looked at the other one still sitting on the table. He picked it up, and went in search of his young Cellmate.

Walking into his cell for a moment, he could not see him until he looked in the corner.

"G?" Owen said softly.

Callen quickly wiped his face on his sleeve, turning away so Grant was unable to see him. Callen felt angry; he was not a baby and he was _not_ going to let Grant see him cry.

"What?" Callen said, still with his back to the man.

"You left your letter on the table."

"Just shove it in the trash; it's a visiting permit request from my social worker."

"You don't want to see them?" Owen was surprised he held the letter out. "You don't know what this one is for?"

"Does it matter?" Callen sighed.

"It might." Owen pushed as he looked at the letter, and recognized the neat penmanship on the front.

Callen looked at it, took it and opened it. As the boy read it, he gave a sour laugh. "Yeah, right." he said, then flicked it towards the trash can.

"Who is it from?" Owen asked.

"Some voluntary service, wanna visit me." He said, still laughing sarcastically. "Like, now I'm gonna be 18 they all care?"

"You haven't had any visitors since you've been here?" Owen asked, furrowing his eyebrow. "You've been here 2 and a half years now."

"Nope." Callen shrugged; he had never expected any visitors at all. This letter had been a kick in the teeth. Prisoner visitation and support had suddenly discovered he was there, and to ease his time inside, they wanted to visit him, show him someone cared. Sadly, due to his age, they were unable to send anyone to see him until he turned eighteen. This was a few more months away, and he was dreading it.

Of course, every day there was a day closer to freedom, but since receiving that letter from child services, Callen did not know what freedom would hold in store for him. He certainly had never expected to age out of the system while he was incarcerated or at all for that matter, having thought he would die in the system. He had hoped had he made it out alive, to go to college, be like others his age. That had been his dream. He chuckled to himself, like all his other dreams, it had turned into a nightmare.

Dallas had been his last dream, his last hope for freedom. The promise of going to live with him when he was released. With Dallas' sentence being extended, and him being moved, that dream, like all of Callen's other hopes and dreams had gone.

Right now, he had no hope for his future.

Grant picked up the letter, and turned towards his younger cellmate. "This woman sounds nice, she's enclosed a handwritten note." He pointed out. "Says' if you're willing, she would like to meet you now rather than make you wait. You sure you don't even want to meet her?"

"Why would I?" Callen replied stubbornly.

"Come on, a little old lady? Wants to meet you?" Owen tried to get round him. "Someone who wants to get to know you? You never know, it might be a good idea." Owen pushed.

Callen took the letter back, "I suppose. It will kill time and I get to go to the visitor area. Is it as nice as they say it is?" He asked.

"It's great, it's bright and you get to sit in relaxing chairs. So… you gonna go?"

Callen looked at the letter, "Sure, what do I have to lose…" He turned the paper over in his hands. "Grant? Will you help me write to her? I'm not sure what to put."

Owen bit back a smile, finally a step forward.

"Sure… now what's her name?" He asked, pulling out a pad and pen.

"Hetty." Callen replied as he read the name and he let out a small hopeful smile at the letter.


	6. Chapter 6

Granger smiled as he watched Callen work on his letter. Maybe there was something to this, maybe Callen would finally reach out to the one woman who was so invested in his life.

For an hour, Callen kept writing, screwing up the paper and tossing it in the trash, then starting again.

"Fuck it!" He swore after trying again for about the fortieth time. "I can't do this, I'll just tell them to forget it; it's not worth the effort. _I'm_ not worth the effort." He stood up, and started pacing the corridor outside his cell.

"Come on, it can't be that hard." Owen encouraged him. "I already said I'd help you. Besides all that pacing is giving me neck ache."

Callen stopped at the door to their cell.

"Fine…" He snapped, "What the hell do I tell her?"

Granger took one of the pieces of paper out of the trash and read what Callen had tried to write.

"It's not that bad." He said, hoping to lift the boy's spirits. "I mean 'hello' is a good way to start, and you put your name and your age."

He looked at the screwed up piece of paper again.

_Hi Hetty._

_My name is G. Callen. I am 17. I got ya letter and sure if ya want ya can come and see me. I ain't got nothin better to do as I am in prison. But ya know that coz ya wrote to me._

_I dunno why ya wanna waste ya time but it's your time to waste. I don't have any plans for when I leave here coz I ain't good at nothin. My cellmate says I should meet you as you might be nice. I know you may pretend to be nice but you are only meeting me because it makes ya feel good._

_So I suppose you can come then._

_I ain't going anywhere so come when you like._

_Bye_

_Callen._

Owen looked at the letter. "It really isn't that bad. May need some fixing here and there."

"I dunno what to write to her; I don't know her do I." Callen sighed. "I've never written a letter before." He admitted, "Never had anyone to write to."

Owen grabbed a stack of paper and some pens. "Come on kid." He said and walked out of their cell towards the main hall.

* * *

Callen lagged behind; ever since his last run in, he did not like going to the main hall for anything but meals, but there was no way he was going to look like a weak girl and tell Grant he was scared. So he dampened down his worry, and followed along behind.

Granger sat down, putting the paper and pens down next to him and indicating that Callen should sit next to him.

"So… Callen… what do you know about basic letter writing?" Granger asked.

Callen shrugged, "You're mean and nasty when you write a letter, tell people what you think and don't care about their feelings. You also tell them what to do and where to be?" He stopped and looked at Granger, "But this lady didn't do anything to me; I don't want to be mean to her. Can't I just tell someone to call her?" He asked.

Granger shook his head, "You have to write to her; she wrote to you. She wasn't mean in her letter now was she?" He asked.

Callen shook his head. "No, that's why I wanna see her. I've never got a nice letter before. It's usually you go here, you go there, these people don't want you, so you'll be moved by whenever. No one's been nice in a letter before. I kinda wanna thank her for that."

Granger smiled, "So… start with that."

Callen nodded.

_Hi, Miss Hetty._

_I liked your letter it was nice._

_Ya asked about me my name is Callen and I am 17._

_I live in Fulsome and share a room with a guy called Owen Grant, he's ok but nosey._

_I like that you wrote to me and Grant says it would be a good idea if I seen ya. He says ya might be nice._

_I am in here for a long time so youz can come wherever ya want as long as the warden says it ok._

_Grant says the visiting area is nice and you would like it, they have real armchairs and stuff._

_I promise to be good if you come and won't swear or nothin._

_Thanks_

_Callen._

Callen looked over at Grant, "How's that?" he asked.

Grant smiled and was tempted to send it like that to Hetty. Either way, both attempts were going to be saved and shown to her later.

Grant picked up another piece of paper. "You write a letter like this." He said, and started with his prison number on the top with the address of the prison underneath.

"Why do you do that?" Callen asked.

"So they know where to send the letter to." He replied.

"But, she already sent me a letter, so she knows where I am." Callen argued.

"That's true," Grant agreed. "But it's polite, so it's what you do."

Callen sighed and copied what Granger had written, but put his own prison number in instead of Grant's.

"Ok, so what's next?" Callen asked.

"You put the date, and then Dear… in this case it would be Hetty; that's the lady's name." Granger told him.

Callen looked up confused, "Deer?" He said, puzzled "Why?"

"Because that's how the letter starts, it's to be nice."

Callen shrugged and wrote…

_Deer Miss Hetty._

"No!" Granger nearly groaned, "Not like the animal, 'Dear', like when someone cares and calls you dear."

Callen looked at him blankly, "Someone does what? Why?"

"It's a term of endearment, it means to show you care."

"But I don't care, I don't know her." Callen argued. He stopped for a moment, and looked at the letter Hetty had written. "She called me Dear… more than once, why would she do that? She doesn't know me."

"Maybe she's the sort of person who does care." Granger offered. "Sometimes, people care about other people because they have heard about them or their circumstances."

"Why? What's in it for her?"

Granger shrugged, "Nothing, maybe everything. Maybe she just doesn't think it's fair that one mistake can mean that you have to head down a bad road for the rest of your life. Maybe she thinks you can be helped."

Callen laughed, "She's gonna be disappointed, even my social worker said I was a lost cause."

"What if your social worker was wrong?"

Callen stood up sharply, his chair scraping along the floor and clattering to the group. "This is crap. You write the damn letter, let her come and see you. I ain't worth botherin' over!" He turned and stormed off to his cell, "Stupid letters, stupid stupid…"

Granger heard the last remark and nodded to the guard as Callen stormed off, "I need to see the warden." He said.

The guard nodded, and headed off. Granger grabbed the letters and headed off with him.

* * *

After a few minutes, Callen realized he had left the letter that the lady wrote on the table and turned back to go get it. He stood in the doorway, anger flooding his body as he realized that Grant was missing and the letter was too.

Callen was never going to admit it to Grant, but he had liked the letter, and now he realized that dear was a nice thing and not just a type of animal. He had started to treasure the letter, someone… even if he did not know who, was being nice to him and Grant had taken it.

If there was one thing Callen had learned over the years, it was that someone only stole from him once. He turned and headed back to his cell to finish work on the shiv he had started a few weeks ago.

* * *

Granger walked with the guard until they got to the administration block away from the other prisoners.

"How's he doing?" The guard asked.

Granger sighed, "He's a handful, you sure Hetty knows what she's doing?"

The guard smiled, it reached his deep blue eyes, "It's Hetty. I can't believe Mike had me come all the way here for a kid, but we both know you can't say no to her."

Granger smiled back, "Well, you're still a probie Gibbs, Mike must think a look at the other side of life would be a good wake up call for you."

"Which one of us is wearing Orange Granger?" Gibbs asked with a smirk.

"Well, I can't say no to her either." Granger said. "You should see these letters the kid wrote. I think we are getting there. I think he may be coming round."

Gibbs knocked on the door to the warden's office and they went in.

* * *

An hour later, Granger headed back to his cell. Finally seeing an end to this assignment in sight.

As he walked in the door, he was rushed by Callen and slammed up against the wall.

"You stole from me!" Callen snarled.

For a moment Granger stood there, he felt something warm trickle down his leg and looked confused. "I… Callen?" He looked down and saw a dark red stain spreading on his side.

"No one steals from me… that letter was mine, give it back."

"You stabbed me?" Granger looked confused, to be stabbed over a letter?

"It's mine." Callen started looking through his pockets, "Where is it?"

Granger slumped back against the wall, "I…?"

Gibbs walked up the corridor, Granger had forgotten the letters, and he knew that he would need them, so he picked them up along with the spare pens and paper that Granger had taken with him, and decided to take a walk up to the cell to give them back.

He walked up to the cell door, "Grant… you left the… **_holy shit_**!" he hit the emergency button on the wall, pushed Callen away from the older man and cuffed him.

"You stabbed him?" Gibbs said, looking at the boy.

"He stole from me, it was mine… I want it back…" Callen struggled to get to Granger. "Give me back my letter!"

Gibbs picked up the letter from social services and handed it to him, "This one, you stabbed him over a letter?" He grabbed a towel and put Granger's hand on it, "Hold it there."

"No…" Callen struggled against the cuffs, "He took it, the letter from the lady, the nice one! _It's mine!_ "

"For God's sake Callen, it's here!" Gibbs snapped. "He was bringing it back, you didn't need to do this!" Gibbs pressed the emergency button again. "I need the paramedics!" he called to the other guard, who appeared at the end of the hallway.

Callen looked over at Granger, his anger rapidly dissipating, "I thought… I thought I wouldn't see it again." He blinked rapidly as tears burned his eyes, "She… she called me dear…" He sat back as the paramedics came in and took Grant away.

"I didn't mean to… is he gonna be ok?" Callen asked.

Another guard grabbed him, and hauled him off to solitary, "What do you care kid?" He snapped shaking his head. "You're a lost cause kid. I can't believe you had that Hetty lady calling and caring about you. She's a nice lady. You should be kept away from people, you're feral Callen."

He threw him in the hole and slammed the door shut, "We'll see if the warden decides to let you out this time." The guard yelled. "If I had my way we'd never let you out."

He slammed the window on the door shut as Callen threw himself onto the bunk, the letter that had caused all the problems still clutched tightly in his hand.

"He took it and she cared…" He whispered as the tears leaked silently down his face.

* * *

Granger lay in the infirmary, his hands behind his head, glaring at the ceiling.

"I don't like this." He groused. "Putting him in the hole is the wrong move."

"He stabbed you Owen." Gibbs argued as the doctor put a patch on his side.

Owen rolled his eyes, "It's a scratch Jethro, it didn't even make it past the first layer of muscle. He was hurt and scared. I've been with him for a few months now. You need to understand we were making progress." He argued.

"I thought you wanted to leave before you got too invested in the boy's future?" Gibbs argued.

"He's one of Hetty's; how can I not get involved? You've met him." Owen argued. "Besides…." He trailed off and turned away.

Gibbs' interest was piqued, "Besides?" He pushed.

"Besides, he's a kid and deserves a chance in life." Owen said, hastily changing his line of thought, truth was Clara had been his friend and he owed it to her to help.

"Yeah, well, he's probably screwed up too much this time," Gibbs opined. "Face it Owen, he stabbed a Federal Agent; he's gotta pay for that."

Owen shook his head, "He reacted to what he thought was a theft by his cellmate. He doesn't know I'm an Agent or that we are watching him." He hissed quietly.

Gibbs shook his head, "I'll go call Hetty and let her know what's happened." He said as he left Granger to lay on the bed.

Neither men saw the trusted orderly who had been in an adjoining room, slip out.


	7. Chapter 7

Hetty looked at the box on her desk. It had taken a while for her to arrange for Child Services to release the box. It was not as much as she would have expected, but it was Callen's life, his childhood such as it had been. Plus, a few reports that his outgoing, social worker had thought would be of benefit for Hetty, to read before she contacted Callen.

The first thing she pulled out was a faded drawing, and she gasped as she realized its significance. It was a large house, sad faces in the many windows and a man as large as the house standing next to it, with an angry expression. Away from the house alone, was a small stick figure with a large bag with a G written on it. In childlike handwriting, there was a name and a title at the bottom, it said ' _My family. By G Callen age 5'._

Hetty stared at the sad figure for a moment. Then, as she looked through the rest of the paperwork, one thing became clear, this was a little boy who could only remember being alone. This little boy held on dearly to the few possessions he owned, even to the point of arguing with his social worker, who wanted to change his bag for a new one. He had found Callen patching his old bag up with duct tape. Callen had argued tooth and nail to keep the bag he had been found with.

Hetty then read the police report of the five year old boy who did not know his own name, who had been found wandering LAX with a bag with his name on such as it was. The boy did not talk, and in the end, all they could do was put him into the system. It was only after some therapy, that the strange little boy with the sad blue eyes had started to talk. Not once had he been able to say his name; the therapists had concluded that the boy had been through a traumatic event and had lost his memory.

It had also been noted that the boy had a slight accent, although no one had been able to place the accent. A new therapist had said that the boy might have been Russian, due to a tattered copy of _Masha and the bear_ written in Cyrillic in his bag, but Callen did not understand the words, nor did he understand when the therapist had talked to him in Russian. So it was concluded that he might have picked up the book from a lost traveler while wandering the LAX terminal.

However, when anyone tried to take the book from him, he would fight to keep it.

He had been fostered out to various homes over the years, never seeming to settle in any of them. Mind you, some of the homes had been dubious to say the least. Callen had been described as a loner, not engaging with others. In his reports from school, they had described a child who was sullen and combative. Other reports saying about bruising that appeared, maybe as the result of fights with other children. However, Hetty suspected that some of this may have been abuse from Foster parents, as these reports coincided with Callen running away from those homes. Missing for a few hours, to a few days…occasionally a few months.

Hetty found herself empathizing with the boy he could have been, if he had never had this start in life. This was why she had tried to be there when she had heard that he had stolen a car in the first place. She needed to meet her friend's son, get to know him as a person. She needed to repay the debt she had accrued, when she had failed to save him and his mother all those years ago.

* * *

Callen paced up and down his cell. For the first time in his life, he felt guilty for his actions. He had acted on instinct, which as he already knew, had always been his undoing. Grant had not stolen his letter. He, Callen, had left it behind, and Grant had intended to bring it back to him.

The idea that someone would give him something back that belonged to him, was such a foreign concept to Callen, that he was still confused by his cell mate's actions. Grant had been nice to him, and had helped him write the letter. Then the man had gone missing, with not only the letter that Hetty had sent him, but his replies too. The feeling that Grant was just like everyone else had hurt, and Callen had reacted out of instinct, but he now regretted stabbing the man, and wished he could take it back. He had spent the last week regretting his actions, and he did not like being in solitary at all.

He heard the door open, and he stepped back, as were the rules while in solitary, as a trustee entered the cell and without a word, put Callen's lunch on the single table in the room.

Callen waited until the door was locked again, and then he walked over to the table, lifting the cover on his food. He turned the cover over and stopped, noting the piece of paper taped to the cover.

_Callen,_

_Grant is a fed. Don't trust him._

_Dallas is sending for you. Wait for him. Look for a letter from Kaylee._

_A friend._

Callen sat with a heavy thud in surprise; Owen Grant was a Fed?

Again, Callen grew angry at himself for starting to believe the man had actually liked him and cared about him. Now he was glad he had stabbed him. He was sick to death of being played. In fact, the only person who had never lied to him was Dallas.

Now Dallas had sent word that as soon as Callen was released, he would send for him?

He was unsure how, as Dallas was due to be released after he was, but he trusted Dallas and decided to wait and see if his mystery friend would leave him any other clues. He wondered who Kaylee was, and if she was related to Dallas in any way.

Callen ate his dinner, for once not grimacing at the bland taste and not caring. He had a way out. As soon as he had done his time, he would be released and he would never be alone again. The brotherhood, his family still cared and still wanted him.

He wanted to thank the trustee as he came and took his tray, but the rules forbade him from speaking to anyone except the guards while in solitary. So he gave the man a small smile and hoped that he had conveyed his message that way.

Just as the guard was shutting the cell door, he turned to the boy, "I'm coming by to take you to the showers soon; you're gonna wash up and get new clothes. You have a visitor this afternoon."

Callen looked confused, "But…I'm in solitary, I…I don't get visitors anyway?"

The guardnodded agreeing with him, "I know, but this person has pull and she's requested to meet with you. Warden says you're to be on your best behavior. So be ready to go when I get back." He ordered.

Callen looked down at the clothes he was wearing; they were a prison issue white T shirt, gray Tracksuit bottoms and an orange coverall, finished off with white sneakers and white tube socks. He could not see any problems in his outfit. It was a bit threadbare, but it was still in better condition than most of the clothes he had owned throughout his life.

He grabbed his wash bag and towel, and waited for the guard to come and collect him. Half of him was worried about who this woman was, and how much influence she had if she could arrange to see him while he was in solitary, and whether or not his trip to the showers out of turn was really what it seemed to be. After all, it would not be the first time he had been asked to go somewhere and he had ended up in the prison infirmary.

* * *

Two hours later, showered, dressed in new jeans, a light blue t-shirt and new sneakers, Callen walked down the corridor to the visitors' area.

Normally this area was packed with people, but visiting was generally on Thursdays. Today was Tuesday and he was the only one in normal clothes, wearing an Orange vest top to denote that he was a criminal and not a visitor.

Callen felt self conscious as he walked into the large spacious room.

He waited as the guard removed his handcuffs and whispered, "Behave." The boy looked around, checking the exits and looking for the woman who seemed to have so much power over people.

He was surprised to see a short woman sitting in an armchair, slowly sipping a cup of tea from a delicate china cup.

"Good afternoon Mr. Callen." She smiled at him warmly.

Callen's mouth dropped open, "You're short!" He exclaimed as he looked at her.

Hetty's mouth moved as she tried and failed to hide an amused smile.

"So I've been told, would you care to join me?" she asked, indicating the chair facing her.

Callen looked over at the guard, who had sat down and was watching the scene but not interfering.

"Who are you?" Callen asked as he sat on the chair indicated.

She placed the cup lightly in the saucer and looked up at him. "My name is Henrietta Lange. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Callen looked at her, seemingly weighing her words. "Why?" He asked.

"You sent me a very nice letter." Hetty said, not actually replying to his question. "I wanted to meet the young man behind the letter."

"Yeah…?" Callen asked guardedly. "But why send me a letter in the first place. You don't know me, and I don't know you."

"On the contrary, I know a lot about you Mr. Callen. I know that you like tinkering with machines. I know that you have strived to find somewhere that you belonged. I know that you found that, somewhat briefly here with the Aryan Brotherhood. I know you have a kind and caring nature under all that teenaged bluster. I know that you fight for those smaller than yourself who you see in trouble. I know that despite the fact that you are currently incarcerated, you do have an innate sense of right and wrong." Hetty stopped as Callen started to glare at her.

"How do you know so much about me?" He asked, a small knot of fear tightening in his gut.

"I had a conversation with your social worker; she informed me of a few things I didn't know."

Callen sat back in his seat and crossed his arms, bracing himself. "So, you came to gloat?" He assumed. "Look at the kid that no one gives a damn about so that you could feel like you've done your civic duty?"

"Actually, I am here to parole you, if you wish." Hetty informed him. "Into my custody for the remainder of your sentence and if you wish, you could stay longer."

Callen's eyes narrowed as he looked at her suspiciously.

"You can parole me?" He asked, not quite believing her words. "Why? I mean, why would you do that… for me?"

"Honestly?" Hetty replied. "I see potential in you, a potential I would hate to see wasted. Also…I owe a debt, it's my way of repaying."

Callen nodded, as he thought he was a charity case again, but over the years, he had learned to watch for the opportunity when it presented itself. This was, if nothing else, a way out of Fulsome.

"So, are you going to Parole me?" He asked.

"I would like your word on something first." Hetty said, she could see the mixed distrust and curiosity coming of the young man in waves.

Callen sat forward, his posture still conveyed and air of distrust, but the interest was beginning to show.

"What?" Callen asked.

"I need you to promise you will try and work with me." Hetty stated in a 'matter of fact' manner. "To complete your education, and learn to trust people. In return, I will promise not to break your trust and to do all I can to lead you to your true potential."

"Ok." Callen nodded. "I will try."

"In that case, I need for you to go back to your cell with the guard and gather your things." Hetty smiled. "You will be leaving with me today."

"Today?" Callen was shocked, normally there would be a few days of paperwork before he would be released.

Hetty nodded and patted the folder by her side, "The paperwork was completed a week ago."

Callen frowned, "You hadn't met me a week ago?"

Hetty smiled, "Yet, I knew you would be receptive to my offer." She replied.

Callen stood as the guard came over and handcuffed him for his trip back to the cells.

"I will be outside the prison to collect you in an hour." Hetty said as she stood up. "Please, be prompt."

For a second Callen blinked in shock, then before he knew it, he was standing back in his cell.

* * *

Callen looked at his cell; there was nothing here that he owned, except his mail. He grabbed the letter that Hetty had sent him, and his bedding and walked with the guard back to his normal cell.

Grant was nowhere to be seen. For a second he wondered if he had actually killed him, because his cell mate's stuff was gone and the guard refused to answer him.

Callen placed everything that belonged to the prison in a pile for turning in, when he would hopefully receive his belongings back. He took his wash kit, pad, pens and a small pile of unopened mail that had been waiting for him, and carried it all over to processing.

He turned in everything, except the new clothes that had been provided for him, he turned to do that but was stopped by the guard.

"Those are yours, that little woman provided them for you."

Callen was shocked at that, but slightly pleased. He looked at his belongings. His bag, as tattered and old as it was, had made it to the prison, he took the worn out pair of sneakers that were two sizes too small and dumped them in the trash.

Putting his letters in his bag, he signed the form to say that all his items were accounted for, and with a smirk at the prison officer, turned and headed towards the exit.

"Callen!" The guard who had hauled him off to solitary, called as he jogged up to him, as another guard walked him towards the exit.

Callen recognized him instantly. "Is Grant ok? Did I kill him?" he asked worried.

The guard smiled, "He's going to be ok, it was just a small wound. I hear you got paroled?"

"Yeah… can you tell Grant… I'm sorry. I didn't mean it; he was a good friend. Tell him… tell him I appreciate all he did to help." Callen urged.

Gibbs nodded, "I'll tell him. You be good out there ok kid? You got a second chance, don't waste it."

Callen nodded, glancing towards the fence where he could see Hetty standing beside a Shelby Cobra.

"I wasn't planning on wasting any of it." Callen vowed.

Gibbs watched as Callen walked out of the gate and over to Hetty. Something was off, but he could not quite put his finger on it. He walked over to the administration block, where Owen Granger was changed back into civilian clothes and was looking forward to this assignment ending.

Hopefully now the kid was on the path Hetty had hoped him to be, they could move on with their lives.

* * *

Callen gripped his bag, as he looked silently out onto the streets as Hetty drove him to her home. Gripping tightly to the one thing he had seen as he was packing. Hope, in the form of a letter from Dallas.

Now he was free, all he had to do was see what Dallas had planned for him, and make his own decisions on where he would go next.


	8. Chapter 8

Hetty was a nice lady, but her security measures, in Callen's opinion, were insane.

There were cameras and a security team that patrolled the grounds. It was more heavily guarded than prison, and none of his family were here.

Callen had not opened the letter he had received from Dallas yet. If it was to say he had messed up, he did not want to read it.

Callen had given his word to this woman that he would try and turn his life around. He woke up early every morning, basking in the small amount of freedom he did have. He would shower, and run around the grounds of the large house before breakfast. After getting used to the fact that he could make his own breakfast, and that he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted that the house had stocked, he had taken to feeding himself most mornings before the strange woman he lived with rose in the morning.

Hetty would insist that they ate together in the evening, and she would arrive home just as the housekeeper had finished cooking the evening meal, and join him in the dining room. She would ask about his day, inquire about his education and then they would eat in a comfortable silence.

Callen, for his part, was wondering what she did for a living. She would leave about eight o'clock in the mornings, and get home for six in the evening. He was never alone; there was Duke, an imposing man who had a British accent. Callen suspected he had been in the armed forces, due to the way the man carried himself and thought maybe he was security too as he never left the house while Callen was there. Sometimes he would nod, or watch Callen as he exercised either running or in the Olympic sized pool Hetty had on her property.

Uniformed Security would never talk to him, although they looked at him like he was going to rob Hetty's house, so every once in a while he would move something, leave a window open or sneak out onto the grounds in the middle of the night to keep them on their toes. If Hetty knew what he was doing, she wasn't saying anything to him and he enjoyed finding out how far he could go.

He had kept his word, he lasted a month. Callen followed Hetty's rules thinking that if he made a mistake, he would be sent back to Fulsome.

He felt like he was still a prisoner. Frustrated, he understood, this was still a prison. A gilded one, but a prison nonetheless.

The one thing Callen had noticed was, that as prisons went, this was the most luxurious, but he felt it was still in a sense, a prison despite the fact that it was obviously the woman's home. He was a prisoner there. On his first week, he had tried leaving the grounds to go to his parole officer, only to be informed that the man was coming to see him.

When Callen told Hetty, he needed to find a job so he could pay his way, he was told he did not need to pay her to stay there. He argued that he needed things, toiletries, clothes… etc.. She told him to write a list and they would be provided. He also argued about going to the local community college, to complete his GHD, only to be told he had a tutor starting the next day.

* * *

About a week after Callen had arrived, and had argued with Hetty yet again about being able to go out of the grounds, he had begrudgingly accepted her refusal and had gone to his room. Duke walked over to his friend and sat beside her. "You've had other foster children before Henrietta; you've let them leave the grounds, go to college, why not this one?" He asked her.

Hetty pulled an old album out, and flicked through the pages, stopping at the picture of a smiling young woman, her hair flowing in the breeze.

"It's not safe for him right now." She said quietly. "There are people looking for him."

Duke nodded, "I read his file, Aryan Brotherhood."

Hetty shook her head, "No… this… this is an old enemy, from before he was born." She explained. "While _they_ are in town and looking for him, security here will be _this_ tight. My Intel says these people plan to stay for a month; if he doesn't show up then they will be leaving. Then he can go out of the grounds."

"How much danger are we in?" Duke asked, wondering if he needed to step up the security arrangements, after all, if _Hetty_ was worried, then it had to be bad.

" _We_ are in a lot less danger than Mr. Callen is." Hetty admitted. "However, I will not relax my guard again and lose another Callen."

Duke nodded in understanding. Hetty had told him about how she had failed to save his mother on a beach in Romania in 1974, how the woman whose picture his friend was holding in her hands, had been shot in front of her only son. Then her son had been found at LAX airport and no one, not even Hetty, knew what the child's first name was. She had told him how she had tried watching over him from a distance, how she had had him moved by child services when the homes he had been placed in were bad. Or how she would have them move him from the good ones, when this enemy, she refused to name would be close to finding the boy.

Hetty's saddest and newest regret, had been told to Duke just before Callen had come to stay with them. She had told him how she had failed to stop him from being incarcerated in Fulsome prison on a 'grand theft auto and assault with intent to harm' charge. How, yet again, she had been too late to save him.

Hetty took the picture of Clara, and placed it in a new photo frame she had acquired and placed it on the side table next to the couch. "I may not be able to tell him yet who his mother was, but I can have her presence here. There are so many pictures, he won't notice." She surmised as she patted the picture and turned away. "I know Mr. Callen is going to be watched over by his mother as well as us."

"You're not going to tell him?" Duke was surprised, although he did not altogether trust the boy, he knew that he really craved a family, and even though Callen was hating the limitations that Hetty was setting on him, the boy was now trying his hardest to conform.

"It's not safe for him to know just yet." Hetty insisted. "But maybe one day, I _will_ be able to tell him."

* * *

Callen paced in his room, he had been here for just under a month and again Hetty was banning him from leaving the property. All he wanted was a day, just _one_ day, to go to the Ocean and maybe surf a little. The Ocean had always calmed him even as a child. The few, rare times the group home had taken everyone out to the beach for the day, he had really enjoyed himself. He did not have many happy childhood memories, but out of the few he had, most of them involved him being on the sand, watching or surfing in the water.

It was summer, and although he was still working to catch up on his GHD, he needed a break. After all, parole meant that he could go places as long as he never broke his curfew… didn't it?

He decided that the least he could do was ask again. After all, even though she was strict, Hetty had been fair and had not hurt him at all. Neither had Duke, and Callen suspected if he wanted to, this man could make him disappear.

So, taking the bull by the horns, Callen walked downstairs.

Duke was in the library reading a book as Callen walked past. He looked up and nodded, but said nothing.

Hetty was playing a solo game of scrabble.

Callen looked at the letters on the board and smiled.

"What's that word?" He asked, pointing to the word отпуск written in Cyrillic on her scrabble board, not giving an indication that he actually understood it.

"Otpusk." She said," It's Russian, it means…"

"It means Vacation," Callen finished for her. "I need one… please Hetty, just a day."

Hetty looked up in surprise, as Callen had just admitted knowing a language he had previously confessed to not knowing.

"I've been doing all you asked, I haven't messed up yet. I've been studying hard, ask Ms. Taylor. I just need to get out!" He looked abashed as his voice rose with the last word, and he stepped back worried, as Duke stood up in readiness in case Callen kicked off and Hetty needed him.

"Sit down Mr. Callen." Hetty ordered and watched as Callen complied. "I agree, you need a vacation. Maybe Duke can…"

"No… I mean I need a day... Alone. I promise I won't break curfew or anything else. I will come back, I just…" Callen stopped as he just flopped back in the chair, feeling defeated.

Duke caught Hetty's eye, and with a smirk turned back to the library to finish his book.

"I totally understand, you have been working well and I agree, Ms Taylor told me you have been an exemplary student." Hetty smiled. "So I have arranged for you to take a car out for the day. I know Duke has been giving you lessons on the grounds and I know that you have your license, so if you give me your word that you will obey the rules of the road, bring my car back in one piece and come back before your curfew, you may have your day. Would tomorrow be acceptable for you?" She asked.

Callen broke into a huge grin, "Really?" He asked almost not daring to believe his luck. "Thank you!" He walked over and gave her a hug, then jumped back as he realized what he had done, "I'm… I'm sorry." He apologized, and then stepped away from her, accidentally knocking the picture frame that was on the side table. He caught the picture before it hit the floor and looked at the woman on the photo. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat. Something in him felt drawn to the woman in the picture. He quickly corrected himself and shaking his head, handed the picture back to Hetty, and all but fled the room.

"Well, that was interesting." Duke said as he moved from his spot behind the door frame. "Do you think he knows who she is?"

Hetty shook her head, "I don't think so. I mean, if he asks me, I will of course tell him." She promised. "But right now, I think he's more preoccupied with his day of freedom. Do you have the car ready for him?"

Duke nodded, "The yellow Volkswagon. It's all gassed up and clean for him."

"Good. I will give him an allowance and some food for the day, I assume he will be leaving early, so you should get ready."

Duke smiled, "He'll never know I'm there." He promised.

Callen ran back to his room, his heart lighter than it had been in a while. He pulled out the letter from his bag, studied the address again and really hoped that what it had said in the letter was true.

Tomorrow was going to be a great day.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun had not yet risen over the horizon as Callen slipped out of the house.

He never noticed as Duke pulled out of the garage on a motorcycle a few seconds after he had cleared the driveway.

He turned the radio up, and with the top down on the car, he enjoyed the music and the wind in his hair.

Smiling as he drove down the 101, he soon pulled into the place he had been aiming for.

The beach was quiet and empty, save for a few surfers taking advantage of the early morning swells. Callen pulled a bottle of water out of a hamper that Hetty had prepared for him, and took a quick drink.

He grabbed the beach blanket, and the book he had been reading as part of his tuition, and headed for the sand.

Duke watched from his vantage point on the pier, he saw that Callen was relaxed and reading, not taking a lot of interest in his surroundings. He had put some suntan lotion on and stripped down to a pair of shorts and was engrossed in his book. So Duke made himself comfortable and settled down, field glasses in hand just in case any of the people Hetty had told him were Callen's enemies came looking for the boy.

* * *

Inside the book he was reading, was the letter that Callen had taken with him from prison over a month ago. He looked at it again with a smile.

_Hey G,_

_My name is Kaylee. Dallas asked me to write to you. He says to let you know that he still worries about you and that you are still family. If you get out he has friends that will write to me._

_I will be on Hermosa Beach every day and will look for you. Bring a blanket and a book and I will find you._

_Dallas misses you and wants you to be a part of the family._

_Kaylee Alder._

He sat up, looking at the letter and for a moment stared out to the ocean, wondering who Kaylee Alder was, would she recognize him from Dallas' description? Why did she want to meet him?

He stayed staring for about ten minutes until a shadow fell across his face.

"I'm sorry… are you Callen?" A young woman asked.

Callen looked up at her, and could not help but smile, "Kaylee Alder?" He asked.

The young woman nodded and sat beside him. "Dallas is my older brother." She told him. "He writes to me, told me a lot about you."

"How is he? Is he ok?" Callen asked, turning to look at her earnestly.

Kaylee smiled and Callen felt his heart stop.

"He's fine, he's getting out in a few weeks. He wants you to come home to family. He has a job lined up for you if you're interested and a place to live."

"When?!" Callen could not hold in his excitement.

"He said about a month, unless you need somewhere to stay now?" Kaylee asked.

Callen shook his head, "I'm on Parole at some woman's house; have to stay there for a few more months before I can leave. I made a promise." He added.

Kaylee smiled, "Dallas said you were a good kid. Our house isn't fancy, but you'll be warmly welcomed."

Callen shrugged, he had heard that line too many times before, "I'll take it, but I may not stay."

"Fair enough, Dallas said you could go far, just need a family behind ya. He doesn't take to people like he did to you. What's this lady like you're with, she treat you right?" Kaylee asked worriedly.

"She's ok, she promised not to break my trust and she hasn't done… yet, but I promised I'd stay till I finished my schooling."

Kaylee took out a pen and wrote a number on a piece of paper.

"Dallas says not to trust her." Kaylee warned. "They don't know you like we do and they don't care like we do. Keep this number, call me when you can. I'll let you know when Dallas gets released. You need anything we are here for you Callen, we are family and we never forget or leave you behind. You are one of us, family. The brotherhood is mother and father to us both."

Callen looked at her questioningly. "Both?"

Kaylee smiled, "I'm an Orphan like you, like Dallas." She explained. "Dallas found me being chased by some niggers on the street; he saved me. He's never treated me as anything less than his sister. He's never lied to me or hurt me. He'll do the same to you. Family is important to the brotherhood."

Callen lay back as Kaylee's words overwhelmed him. Dallas was an orphan too, no wonder he knew what he had been going through.

"What you doing for the rest of the day?" Kaylee asked.

Callen smiled, "I got the whole day to myself, so nothing really."

Kaylee smiled back, "I figured I might go to Venice Beach, you wanna come?" She stood up, holding out her hand. "We can get to know each other better."

Callen grabbed his shirt and threw it over his head, "Sure, I have a car." He quickly gathered his things and stood up.

* * *

Duke watched as Callen talked to a girl, seemed to get her number and then stood up to go with her.

"Well, whaddya know, G's got a girl." He grinned as he stood up to keep an eye on him. He took a few pictures of the girl and knew he would check her out later. Until then, he walked over to his motorbike and got ready to follow where the boy would lead.

* * *

Callen and Kaylee walked along Venice beach and spent the whole day walking and talking. They stopped at a little coffee shop for lunch, Callen paying with the money that Hetty had given him. Kaylee filled Callen in on how Dallas was doing in Oakville, and how he had great plans for when he was released. She told him about the garage and a bar that Dallas was part owner of, and how Dallas hoped that Callen would take a job in one of those businesses. Callen smiled, as the idea of working in a garage appealed to him. The chance to work with his hands and fix things. He and Dallas had talked long into the night about how he liked to fix things. It was obvious for the first time in his life, someone had listened and taken note of what he liked to do.

All too soon, the day came to an end and he realized he was going to miss curfew.

"I gotta go." He told her sadly. "Can I call you?"

Kaylee smiled, "Anytime you need to, I will always be there for you, you're family." She leaned over and hugged Callen, "You stay safe," she said, and watched as he walked sadly to his car.

As he drove away, Callen watched in the mirror as she waved him off. He had had the best day he could remember. He was now looking forward to finishing his studies and finally moving to live with Dallas.

* * *

The sun was just going down as he pulled into Hetty's driveway. He knew he was late, but he hoped that she would not be too harsh on him.

He snuck in the house as he heard raised voices from inside.

"I had Duke follow him, but he lost him due to an accident on the 101." Hetty sounded worried.

"So you called me?" A familiar voice came floating down the hallway, and Callen stopped dead.

"Of course I called you; you've spent more time with him than I have so you know how he thinks. Do you think he would have stolen the car and run?"

"Did he show any signs of it Henrietta?" The man asked.

"No… I thought he was happy here Owen." She said sadly. "But he has missed his curfew. Maybe he deceived me."

There was movement and the man's voice changed. "You have a picture of her out here? Has he seen it? Does he know who she is?"

"He has seen it," Hetty confirmed. "It was an interesting reaction, but no he didn't recognize Clara as his mother."

At this, Callen balled his hands into fists! Hetty knew who he was, she knew his mother and she had never said a word!

He moved so he could see who was in the room with Hetty and stopped dead; it was Owen Grant!

"You lied to me." He said, his voice low and deadly. "I did everything you asked of me and you lied to me."

"Mr. Callen I never intended…" Hetty started realizing with surprise that he was there, but Callen cut her off.

"I understand Hetty, you never intended me to find out." He turned and pointed at Grant, "You were supposed to be my friend. You really are a fed aren't you?"

Owen Granger nodded, "Yes Callen, I was there to keep you safe."

"Why? I don't understand…" He stopped as he noticed the picture in Granger's hand.

"This is my mother?" He asked, "Do you know where she is? Why did she leave me? What's my name?"

He rambled question after question, as unchecked tears fell, mixing with the anger and betrayal he was feeling.

"I can't tell you." Hetty replied honestly.

"Can't or won't!" Callen snapped. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and ran up the stairs.

Owen looked at Hetty, who was visibly upset, "Don't worry, he'll calm down."

"I hope so." Hetty said, gazing sadly after the boy.

* * *

Callen ran into his room and grabbed the things that he owned, not that there was much. He took one spare set of clothes, plus what he was wearing. Everything else he folded up, and left at the end of the freshly made bed. He took his bed roll out of the closet and quietly made his way down the stairs, ignoring the arguing that had started in the kitchen, and slipping out of the door.

He climbed in the car that Hetty had loaned him for the day, knowing that she would never report it stolen. He had left her a note, telling her where he would leave the car and the keys. His driving was erratic as he could not stop the pain in his heart and his eyes kept misting up. His mind kept wandering as he realized he had been played.

He just could not understand why? This woman knew his mother, but had never told him. At least he knew where he was wanted and where people would never lie to him.

He parked beside a row of phone booths and dialed a number.

"Kaylee, it's G… I need you." He said, hating to admit it, but as she had told him they were family and he could ask for help. Still, he braced himself, waiting for her to turn him down.

"Tell me where you are G, I'll be right there." She told him.

He sighed with relief as he placed the phone back in the cradle. They were coming for him, his family were coming for him.


	10. Chapter 10

Duke had just got off his motorbike as he saw Callen run out of the house with his bag and bedroll, he had thrown it in the car and peeled away from the front of the house down the long driveway.

He had no idea what had happened, but his gut told him to follow the boy. Duke knew he would talk with Hetty later, but after today, he felt he needed to know where Callen was going.

He watched as the boy stopped at a bank of phone booths and made a call, then sank down looking totally dejected. It only took Duke a few moments to realize that Callen's shoulders were shaking and he was crying. Whatever had happened when the boy had returned home was apparently devastating to him.

He waited to see if Callen would get back in the car and drive on.

After about twenty minutes, a beat up pick up truck pulled up, a man and the young woman from earlier got out.

Callen stood up, his posture still screaming defeat as the young woman pulled him into her arms. The man placed a comforting hand on Callen's shoulders and said something. Callen nodded and handed him his bag.

Duke watched as Callen climbed into the pickup truck and drove off. He hopped on his motorcycle to make sure that he knew where Callen was going and made a mental note where the boy had left Hetty's car.

* * *

"Callen?" Kaylee asked as they pulled up outside her home.

Callen had fallen asleep, the exhaustion of the day wearing him out.

"I'm sorry Kaylee." He said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

She smiled, "It's ok, we're here."

"Where's here?" Callen asked.

"East Baseline street, San Bernardino. Got a house near the auto shop."

Callen looked; it was an ok house as houses went. Nothing fancy, but it was largish. There was a large looking man covered in tattoos standing at the gateway to the property, his arms were crossed and he glowered at the newcomer.

"Who's this?" He snapped.

"Calm down Draga, he's Dallas' boy." Andy Edwards said as he opened the door to let Callen out. "He's good, I did time with him."

"You're Callen?" Draga's face lit up. "I'm Draga, although outside of here I'm known as Dragon; scares people it does."

Callen smiled and took his bag from Andy as Kaylee took his hand, "Come on you gotta meet Mama."

"Who?" Callen's heart clenched at the word, a frown crossing his face.

"Dallas' mother, her name is Ginny; you'll love her." Kaylee walked into the house calling out, " _Mama… he's here!_ "

A large woman with white hair and a smiling face came rushing out of the kitchen, "Callen? Is that you?" She cried happily. "My dear boy, let me look at you. I've been waiting for so long for you to come."

Callen looked gobsmacked and stepped back as she walked towards him.

Ginny stopped and looked at the young man before her, "I'm sorry son; I'm just so excited about you being here."

"That's ok Ma'am, I didn't mean to be rude, I'm sorry… I'll go if you want." He had already messed up, and he'd only been there a few minutes.

Ginny shook her head, "Don't be silly," She gathered him into her arms. "You need to know the love of a real family son; Dallas told me all about you and I'm so pleased you've decided to come. Now come on inside, let me show you your home."

Home. Callen liked the sound of that, he had always been invited to see the house of people he stayed with, usually with the words 'this is where you sleep, this is our house and you will obey these rules.' Even Hetty had said 'welcome to my home.' Never had anyone told him it was _his_ home. He blinked rapidly as a lump formed in his throat. He hoped nothing went wrong; he had never felt so welcome anywhere in his life.

Ginny took him into a homely looking house, it had a large couch and a big rug with a large old dog asleep in front of an empty fire grate.

"Your room is down here, I've had it ready since Dallas wrote to me just in case." She smiled.

She opened the door, and instead of a sterile generic room, he was greeted with a light blue airy room, with a patchwork comforter on the bed with his initial in the middle.

Ginny grinned, "I hope you like it; I made it when Dallas told me about you."

"You…" Callen put his bag down and ran his hand over the comforter. "You made this? _For me_?"

"All my children have one," She admitted. "I like to make things."

Callen gave her a sad smile, "Thank you Ma'am, no one has ever done anything like this for me."

Ginny shook her head, "Well, they _should_ have done, and quit calling me Ma'am; I am not royalty you know. You can call me Ginny or Mom."

More than anything, he wanted to be a part of this family; they had welcomed him in ways no-one ever had before, so he wanted to say 'Mom' but he stepped back, and with a fake nervous smile just replied, "Thanks Ginny, it's great."

Ginny smiled and told him, "You unpack and settle in, I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Callen sat on the bed, and looked around at the room. He was still in awe that these people, who were not looking after him for money, and had opened their home to him.

He jumped with a start as the door knocked. "Come in?" he called and smiled as Andy entered, "Hey, how you settling in?"

"Good… I think." Callen was still feeling overwhelmed. "Just not sure what to do now. I mean, Hetty… she…" Callen shook his head, still unwilling to tell his friend how Hetty had hurt him, how he had let himself believe she was different to all the others in his life.

"I got a proposition for ya." Andy told him. "I got a friend at the auto shop a block down, who wants to take on someone, Dallas said you're good with machines, are you interested?"

Callen nodded, "Sure."

"When you're ready, I'll take you down to meet Dutch."

"Dutch?" Callen asked.

"Runs the auto shop, Draga runs the bar next door." Andy informed him. "We are all employed by family around here."

"What do _you_ do?" Callen asked as he sat up, slightly bouncing on the bed.

"I work with Draga. Keep things running till Dallas gets back. He'll be pleased to hear you've joined us." Andy said, and Callen felt a warm feeling inside.

* * *

He had been with them a month before he saw Hetty.

He stood up from under the hood of an old ford truck that he had just changed the transmission on, as the bell rang to let him know a customer had pulled up out front.

Wiping the oil from his face as he walked out of the auto shop, he did not immediately realize it was her.

"Can I help…?" He stopped as the oily rag moved from his face and he saw her. "Hetty." He said his voice flat.

"Mr. Callen, I was hoping to have a word with you." She said, standing next to her car, he noted it was the one he had run away in, and was pleased she had got it back.

"Is there a problem with the car?" He asked.

"No." She admitted.

"Then we have nothing to talk about. I didn't take anything that wasn't mine when I left." He reached into his back pocket and took out his pay for that week. "This should cover what I used," He handed her a fifty. "If it's more let me know; I will mail you the rest." He turned to walk back into the garage.

"Mr. Callen please?" Hetty asked.

Callen balled his hands into fists. " _ **No.**_ You lied to me, you refused to tell me you knew my mother, you won't tell me what my name is and you've been playing me since I was a child. I'm not a toy. You have the answers I've been looking for and you won't tell me. Well, let me tell you lady, I _will_ find out who I am even without your help. I have a family that cares about me now, I have a job and a life. I will _not_ be played by anyone ever again!"

He walked off, leaving Hetty looking after him sadly.

"Oh Bugger." she sighed; she had lost him.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been nearly four years since he had seen Hetty. It seemed to pass in an instant.

Callen had settled into his new life, Dallas had been released from Prison and had moved back to the family home welcoming Callen into his family as he did so.

Kaylee and Callen became closer, like brother and sister. Dallas encouraged them to spend their free time together while he met with the boys in the bar.

Once or twice Callen had asked Dallas if he could go along, but for some reason Dallas had wanted to keep Callen away from whatever he was doing with the Aryan Brotherhood even though Callen had begged to be included, telling him that it was more important that Callen spend time with his mother and sister, to protect them.

On being told that, G had beamed and nodded, he loved Ginny as if she was his own mother. He had taken to calling her Ma, and for the first time felt as if he was a part of the family.

There had been a few letters from Hetty, all of which had ended up unopened in a drawer. Once or twice Duke had taken a car in to be serviced and even though he had tried to talk to Callen, Callen had kept his talk all shop; only talking about the car and any repairs that needed doing to it. After a few attempts Duke had given Callen his phone number and told him if he ever needed help to call, and had not come by again. However, every once in a while Callen did feel like he was being watched, but with nothing substantial to back it up he dismissed the feeling as his own paranoia.

* * *

Callen awoke early as he heard Dallas come into the house, he knew that Ma and Kaylee were sleeping, but as he didn't sleep too well the sounds of Dallas quietly cursing caused him to get up and walk into the utility room.

"Dal, you Okay?" Callen asked.

Dallas shrugged, "I'll live kid." He replied with a low grunt, "You not sleepin'?" He asked still with his back to G.

Callen smirked, "When do I ever." He replied.

Dallas nodded and as Callen shifted his stance he noticed the blood on Dallas' torso.

He turned quickly and grabbed the first aid kit that Ma kept on the shelf in the utility room.

"Dallas!" Callen turned him around as Dallas grunted and leaned against the counter, "What happened?"

Dallas looked at him, "Had a banking problem. Got shot, pass me the gauze and peroxide kid."

Callen did as he was asked. "You robbed a bank?"

Dallas smirked, "Na… Me? I'm purer than driven snow kid. But the brotherhood needs funds, there's a new bunch of Jews and Niggers moving into our neighborhood, you know Ma got hassled at the store the other day."

"No?" Callen looked angry and Dallas smiled.

"Yeah, so we are going to clean up the neighborhood." Dallas winced as he poured the peroxide on his graze.

"I want to help." Callen said with all honesty.

Dallas patted his shoulder supportively. "I know you do kid. Maybe we'll find something for you to do, but I know that it helps Ma having you around."

Callen nodded, "Thanks Dallas."

Dallas smiled and turned Callen around and with a light shove sent him out of the room, "Go get ready for work kid." He ordered as with a grin Callen complied.

* * *

On his way out of the house a few hours later Dallas was nowhere to be seen. Callen reached across the table to snag a slice of toast from Kaylee's plate.

"G!" She exclaimed, trying to grab the slice back.

"G… Give your sister back her toast and sit down to breakfast." Ginny kindly admonished him.

"I'm late Ma." Callen argued, but he smiled all the same.

Ginny turned back to the kitchen, "Come here son." She ordered. For a second worry flashed across his face, but Ginny had never treated him unkindly so it vanished as soon as it had appeared and he took a step into the kitchen.

She turned with an aluminum foil wrapped package, "Dallas said you might be running late today, so I made you a breakfast burrito to go, heavy on the bacon."

Callen smiled and kissed her cheek, "Thanks Ma."

"Kaylee and I are going shopping this afternoon, I need to get you a few things, you need new pants and shirts."

"I can get my own Ma." Callen argued.

Ginny smiled indulgently. "I know son, but I want you to come with us if you can. We'll be leaving at about four."

Callen sighed, he hated clothes shopping, but he loved the girls. "Ok, I'll see if I can leave early and I'll meet you there." He promised.

Ginny pulled him into a brief hug and kissed his cheek again, "You stay safe son, I'll see you this afternoon."

Callen nodded and hurried to work, stealing another slice of toast from Kaylee on his way out of the door smirking at her howls of protest as he shut the door and walked to his motorcycle.

* * *

Callen worked through his shift as fast as he could, not really looking forward to shopping but not wanting to disappoint Ginny or Kaylee either.

"G!" Dutch called as Callen zoned out, "What's up with you today kid?"

Callen grinned as he reached down for the wrench he had just dropped. "Nothing. Spending time with Ma and Kaylee later, I just wanna get finished up in time to meet them."

Dutch grinned right back at him, "Ma Alder is making you soft kid.

Laughing Callen went right on with his work, the words Dutch had said, rolling around in his head. Ma Alder was not making him soft, she was making him, for the first time in his life, feel like a member of a family. It was funny how it had taken him going to prison and being lied to by a woman who knew who he was and refused to tell him, for him to find this little piece of Eden. His home and his family. They were not blood, they didn't know his name any more than he did. But they had accepted him, just as he was as one of their own and he owed them more than he could ever repay.

* * *

Kaylee and Ginny had been shopping for an hour, buying lingerie before they met up with Callen at the small coffee shop on Venice beach on the corner of Venice Boulevard.

"It's been a good morning." Ginny sighed as she sipped her coffee.

"It has Mama," Kaylee agreed, "Are you sure G will be here?"

Ginny nodded, "He doesn't know what we have planned…" looking down at the envelope in her hands, she smiled a warm feeling flowing through her chest. "Dallas is planning a surprise party at the bar and Dutch is letting him off early so I know he will be here."

Kaylee grinned, "I hope he says yes."

"He will, I know it in my heart." Ginny lay her hand on the envelope with Callen's name on. If all went to plan by tonight Callen would be a permanent fixture in the Alder family.

Kaylee stood up as she saw Callen's motorcycle park up down the road, "He's coming, Mama." She grinned and waved in his direction.

Callen waved back and stopped as a van screeched past him filled with men in uniform.

Within seconds, chaos descended as gunfire rang out from the van and people started running for cover.

"MA! KAYLEE!" Callen screamed as he ran to the blood splattered table where they lay.

He sobbed as he tried to staunch the blood flow from the wound in Ginny's stomach. Kaylee, he noted, was dead, a gunshot to the head had killed her instantly.

"Ma?" He pressed hard on her wound as he heard the sounds of sirens getting closer. "Ma!"

"G… G, my boy. Don't worry, it'll be ok." She whispered as her strength started to leave her, "I am proud of you." She closed her eyes and died as Callen started to sob not caring who saw him.

* * *

The Police and paramedics kept him detained for hours while they took statements and he watched as the coroner turned up to take the bodies of Kaylee and Ginny Alder away, finally he was allowed to use his phone and he called Dallas.

"Hey little brother, tell me you said yes to Ma adopting you?" He asked the music from the bar evident in the background.

Callen sunk to his knees, "She was…?" he choked back a sob, "Dallas… you need to get here… Ma… Kay… News…" He couldn't say anymore and waited as on the other end of the line Dallas yelled out for everyone to shut up and turned on the TV.

First thing Dallas saw was Callen on his knees on TV as police and reporters milled around. A reporter talking to camera about a bloodbath on Venice Beach.

"G?"

"Dallas, their dead… Kaylee… Ma… Some Nigger Marines shot them. I tried… but… she…" His head bowed on the camera again and Dallas stamped out his grief in favor of collecting his brother. After all it had been his mother's last wish, to adopt the boy and give him a real family.

"Don't move G, we're coming." Dallas didn't even hang up, he just called for Andy and Dutch to follow him, told Draga to close the bar and The Aryan Brotherhood went to pick up their youngest member and grieve for their fallen, as well as planning their revenge.

* * *

Hetty sat at her desk in the Office of Special Projects for NCIS in an old 'abandoned' Water Administration building as the call from Duke came in.

"Lange." She said as she took the call.

Her Agents looked over wondering if they had a case.

She sighed and looked upset, "Is he alright?" she asked.

Mike Renko, team leader, looked over at his boss worriedly and shot a look of concern to his partner Sam Hanna.

"Keep me informed." Hetty replied and replaced the receiver. "My poor boy." She sighed softly.

Renko got up and walking into her office knocked for a second on the post that held up the inner ceiling to her private area.

"Mr. Renko?" She asked, looking up at him and suppressing a smile. Mike Renko was a good man who always seemed to know when she needed to talk and when she didn't.

"Tea?" He asked.

Hetty smiled and took out a cup for him and poured it.

Mike took it and sat down on his favorite chair. "So… Case?" He asked as he sipped his tea.

"I don't think so." Hetty replied honestly, "Although it may be. It was more some sad news about a friend."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Mike replied, jumping to the conclusion that whoever Hetty was talking about must have died.

"I didn't lose anyone. He did… It's very complicated Mr. Renko." Hetty admitted, "Something I am not proud of, a mistake that I wish I could have mended."

"Not everything can be fixed Hetty. Sometimes we just have to learn from our mistakes and move on."

Hetty nodded. She didn't say a word, but her eyes spoke volumes, the sadness and regret visible on her face.

Mike finished his tea and stood up.

"I'll get those reports done for you." He smirked as he turned to go.

"You did them yesterday." She smiled, knowing he was actually up to date with his work.

"Well, I'll invent some more then," Mike laughed as she waved him away the dark mood not entirely gone, but lightened nonetheless.

Her team leader had always had the ability to see through her masks and tough exterior. The small team, she had built for this specialist branch of NCIS had proved their weight in gold.

So far she had lost two team members, Mike Sullivan and Dominic Vail, partners lost in a terrorist attack. Sam Hanna and Mike Renko had been brought in as replacements for her original agents, along with Kensi Blye and LAPD liaison Marty Deeks her little band was complete.

She had hoped to add Callen to her list of agents, she was sure he had the talents of his mother and grandfather, however, he had been lost to her when she and Granger had been overheard that day.

Now to hear he had nearly been killed in a drive by shooting cut her to the core.

Granger had called her having seen Callen on the news in the background of the shooting on Venice Beach. He had watched as the boy he had once called a friend stood in shock being interviewed by police as the two women he had been with were taken away by the coroner. The first thing Granger had thought to do was let Hetty know that Callen was hurting. Maybe she could go and find him, offer her help. Maybe now was the time for her to try again.


	12. Chapter 12

The funerals went off without incident, Dallas and Callen standing together, united as a family.

Hetty watched from her vantage point away from the mourners as her boy said goodbye to the two women who had meant so much to him. She had wanted to be closer, but she was due to leave for Washington D.C. an hour after the funeral finished and she did not want to contact Callen and then leave again.

Callen never left Dallas' side for the whole time they were at the graveside. Dallas himself was very attentive to his 'little brother', making sure he was never alone and glaring every five minutes at the press and the FBI, who were standing at the periphery of the graveside, watching the Aryan Brotherhood bury two of their own.

* * *

Going back to the house for the wake, Callen found himself finally alone. Dallas had made sure he had eaten something, and then gone to his study with a few of the boys from the bar to talk business.

He found himself pacing up and down the hallway outside the room. He knew what Dallas was planning, after all it was exactly what he was thinking of doing, getting revenge. Eventually Callen stopped as Dallas opened the door.

"You can't keep me out of this." Callen growled at Dallas.

"I can boy; Ma would have my hide if you got involved with this." Dallas argued, waving the others away and pulling Callen into the study.

"Ma can't hurt anyone now, neither can Kaylee." Callen snapped back.

Dallas' eyes softened slightly, "Cal… you know it wasn't what she wanted for you; you stayed the right side of the line, you need to carry on, you're a great mechanic."

"I'm good with a gun." Callen argued.

Dallas' head whipped around in surprise, "Since when?" He asked.

Callen smiled, "I learned a few things while I was with that old woman, her friend Duke taught me to shoot."

"Could you kill someone?" Dallas asked, looking Callen in the eye.

Callen nodded gravely, "They killed Ma; I could kill them, not a problem."

Dallas looked at him, a million reasons why he should never allow the younger man in on this running through his mind.

"Dallas, I already lost one family and did nothing to avenge them," Callen pleaded. "I can't let Ma and Kaylee die without doing something to avenge them. I feel like my blood is on fire and I need to finish this."

Dallas was surprised, not by Callen's words, but by the way he all but begged to be a part of it. This was not the boy whom he had met in prison, the boy who, despite all that had been thrown his way in life had shown a spark of good, this was someone who lived and breathed a need for revenge.

Finally, he sighed, "Sure. I'll find a part for you to play. We are gonna hunt down every one of these Marines, they are a disgrace to their uniform and they need to pay."

Callen smiled sadly as Dallas wrapped an arm around him. "Blood is blood boy, but family is family and no one messes with that and lives."

* * *

Mike, Sam, Kensi and Deeks looked up at the big screen as Nell and Eric started putting faces of four Marines onto the big screen.

"Over the last few weeks, four Marines from Pendleton have gone missing. The alarm wasn't raised as three of them have been known to be UA before, they've done time in the brig and then been released, but last night Sergeant Tom Mayfield went missing. He has been seen with the missing men more than once, but he has access to some classified Intel and nuclear codes." Nell told them.

"What do you have?" Mike asked as the team looked at the mug shots.

"The only common denominator is that they were all U.A. together six months ago for two days. All served three to ten days, however, they all swore that they had gone to a football game and the SUV they were renting was stolen and it took them two days to make their way back." Eric told them.

"Do we really believe that?" Sam asked.

Deeks smirked, "I don't…"

Kensi looked at them, "Do you have anything else that links them together, apart from the fact that they are all African Americans and all Marines?"

"Just one thing, they all disappeared after going into a bar in Reseda." Eric said, "Thing is I have no idea why any of these men would willingly walk into this bar."

"They are Marines Beale, a bar wouldn't scare them off." Renko scoffed.

Eric rolled his eyes, "I know that Mike, thing is, this was in an area controlled by the Aryan Brotherhood, why would four African American Marines walk into a bar run by white supremacists?"

Sam glowered at the screen, "Maybe we should go and have a little talk with them."

The team turned to go, and Nell coughed, "One other thing guys. Granger is standing in for Hetty right now, she's stuck in D.C with these congressional hearings."

Kensi looked guilty as the others nodded. "I didn't think my going to Afghanistan would be that big a deal, I mean I did my duty, they shouldn't blame Hetty for the fact I didn't kill Jack."

"I don't think they do Kens," Mike said, "I do think it's because Hetty went all crazy making sure you got back in one piece." He grinned at the junior agent.

"She'd do it for all of us." Kensi argued.

Deeks laughed as they walked to the stairs, "Especially Mike, he's her favorite."

Mike grinned, "Hetty has a thing for waifs and strays. I'm a waif and I stray a lot."

Sam picked up his keys from his desk and looked over at his partner, "Come on mutt, let's go fetch some Marines."

Mike laughed and rolled his eyes, "You're the one who was a SEAL pup." Mike grabbed the keys from Sam's hands, "I'm driving." He called as he moved down the hall to the main door.

Deeks looked over at his partner, "You think we'll ever be like that Kensilina?" Deeks asked.

Kensi shook her head with a grin, "Nope, never…" She walked away from him and opened the main door, "I'd never let you drive." She called back.

"I'mgonna die." Deeks sighed as he hurried to catch her up.

* * *

Callen sat in the basement where the two Marines were tied up, the two were still unconscious from the beating his family had given them. Two had gone. He was not sure, but Callen could guess that they were probably dead and to be honest, he did _not_ feel bad about it.

"GET DOWN THERE!" Dallas' voice cut through his musings as he pushed another black marine in uniform down the stairs.

"Look man I don't know what your problem is, I ain't done nothin!" he argued.

Callen stepped back from this man, he was built like a brick outhouse and G took a step back.

"Don't you be scared of him Cal; he's one of them, they killed momma and Kaylee, he should be scared of you." Dallas warned.

"I didn't kill anyone." The man protested.

"Shut up nigger." Dallas snapped and hit him with the back of his gun. The man staggered and fell towards the other two men.

"You watch them Cal, I'm gonna get Andy and the boys." Dallas stated and turned to go.

Warily Callen watched them, the new guy unnerved him. He did not seem scared like the other men, he seemed more cool and collected.

"Cal is it?" The man said.

Callen shifted, looking over at him. "You don't gotta talk to me." He snapped.

The man shifted so he was a bit more upright, "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm tied up see, my name's Sam."

"I don't care." Callen snapped, he did not like this guy. "Don't care what ya name is, you're gonna pay for what you did."

"I didn't do anything, I was just looking for my friends here." Sam said.

Callen laughed sourly, "They're not your friends." He replied.

Sam looked at him suddenly interested on how he knew that. "What makes you say that son?" He asked.

"I am not your son. I'm no one's son…" Callen snapped and started pacing.

"Keep talking to him, I'm still trying to find out about him," Nell's voice came over the com in Sam's ear.

"Sorry to hear that Cal, you look like a stand up guy." Sam replied keeping his tone even.

"You don't know nothing about me; you niggers come here, kill innocent women, take our jobs and think I'm gonna be ok with that?!" Callen snapped as he paced the room.

Sam sighed, he hated racists, especially ones who just took what they were told as gospel. It seemed that Callen was just spouting what he had heard, not what he actually thought.

* * *

"This is weird, I can't find much on him." Nell's voice came over the com unit, "His name is G Callen, I can't find what the G stands for, a lot of his files are redacted."

"By who?" Sam whispered as he watched the younger man pace and check his gun.

Sam could hear Nell and Eric clicking away in the background trying to find out who had blacked out his file.

"By us!" Eric exclaimed. "Not just by NCIS, but by us in particular. The strange thing is that the file redacts go back to the mid 70's, before NCIS was even created."

"I'll look into it," Nell offered, "You keep an eye on him, maybe he's undercover or something."

Sam looked over at Callen, he didn't look like he was undercover, so why would NCIS have a redacted file on him?

* * *

Dallas walked into the room, a new guy standing beside him.

"Who's that?" Callen asked suspiciously.

"Name's Max, I'm a friend of Andy's." Deeks said as he took in the lay of the room.

"Yeah? I ain't never heard about you before." Callen looked him over suspiciously.

Dallas laughed, "Don't worry Cal, I had him checked out; Max Gentry is a tough son of a bitch, I knew his old man and I think I remember him before they moved away." Dallas turned to Max, "But you were a Brandel then, I remember that and that your name started with an M, I thought it was Marty, but hell I ain't perfect." Dallas clapped Deeks on the back as Deeks tried not to cringe.

"Had to change our surnames as the cops were chasing my old man." Deeks told them.

Dallas nodded, "Seen it once or twice, so tell us what happened with Andy?"

Max paced the floor, "I've been crashing at his crib for a week, he got picked up by the cops yesterday, he called me and told me to let you guys know." He looked over at the three men battered in the corner. "You got trash down here?" He asked.

Dallas nodded, "A little bit of business I need to deal with."

"What they do to you?" Max asked making eye contact with Sam, who blinked to let him know he was ok and he looked over at the two other men who were tied up in the corner, they looked beaten but not severely injured.

"What do you care, they're niggers; they deserved it." Callen spat at him.

"Cal, come on… Max didn't mean anything by it." Dallas argued, he turned to Max, "Sorry he's taking Ma and Kaylee's death hard."

Max looked over at him, "Sorry for your loss."

"What do you care, did you know Kaylee or Ma?" Callen snapped. "You weren't there, you didn't see what they did to them."

"Cal… take a break, go get something to eat." Dallas advised him.

Callen shook his head, "No… I can do this, I'm gonna watch them."

Callen leaned wearily against a support beam as Dallas walked up to him. "There's a pot roast upstairs, one of Ma's from the freezer." Dallas told him.

Callen shook his head, "I can't… not…"

Dallas smiled kindly at the boy he had come to think of as a brother, "Eat… then bring food down for them."

Callen looked up surprised, "Them, why?" he asked.

"Gotta feed them, we are not evil. Ma wouldn't have wanted that, you don't wanna stain her memory. Sure, they have to pay, but Ma never wanted you to go down to their level." Dallas reminded him, "She always said you were destined for bigger and better things."

Callen closed his eyes as a wave of sadness washed over him. She had said that and she would have made sure these men were fed and watered. He could at least do the same.

"I will go eat, you'll watch them till I get back?" Callen asked hopefully.

Dallas nodded, "Come little brother, Max and I will walk you upstairs and then while you eat we will talk."

"But?" Callen asked, looking at the men in the corner.

Dallas smiled, "I will sit by the door, but I doubt that they will go anywhere." He glared over at them and none of the men met his eye. Feeling superior, Dallas walked upstairs behind Callen, filling in Deeks on the brotherhood and what their aims were and how as a blond haired, blue eyed, real man, he would fit in comfortably with the family.


	13. Chapter 13

During the three days Sam was held captive, he learned more about the man holding a gun on them.

He was different to the others in the Aryan Brotherhood, he used the rhetoric, but the hatred that Dallas and the others held did not meet the man's eyes, there was just sadness and fear in them.

From what Sam could gather, the sadness was for the loss of the man's mother and sister, but the fear was ingrained of Sam and his fellow captives.

Every time Callen came near them, Sam would thank him for the food, smile and show kindness. He was saddened how the man would look at him with suspicion.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked while the other men were sleeping and Callen was keeping watch a rifle slung over his lap.

Callen watched as the man shifted, his hand tightened on the rifle just in case.

"I'm still chained up, I'm not gonna hurt you." Sam said quietly.

Callen's eyes looked up the stairs to see if anyone was coming, it was quiet so he asked the question that was on his mind. "Why'd ya do it?"

Sam looked confused, "Why did I do what?"

Callen looked sad, if Sam had had to pick a word he would have used broken or destroyed, whatever had happened to the younger man must have been devastating.

"Why'd ya kill those people, Ma… Kaylee? They hadn't done anything to you. You guys are supposed to be military, ya supposed to protect people. Maybe Dallas' right, ya'll don't have any call to be in the military with decent white folks." Callen said sadly.

"I didn't kill anyone, dunno about these guys," Sam said, looking over at the other two men who wouldn't talk. "You should hand them over to the police, they'll investigate."

"... And let them go? I know what it's like." Callen snapped. "Ya'll are the same."

"Not really." Sam replied, "Listen G… I…"

Callen frowned, "Who told you to call me that?" he asked. He had not been called G in years, not since he had stayed with Hetty.

"A mutual friend." Sam said, keeping his voice calm, "Someone who cares about you." He listened to Hetty's voice in his ear telling him that this man was special and needed to be helped. "I know you haven't had the best start in life, but…"

"You don't know anything about me." Callen snapped, "And the name is Cal. G isn't a name, it's just a letter." He started pacing, annoyed, hoping that Dallas would send someone down to relieve him.

Sam watched as Callen got antsy. "Hey… Cal, calm down."

Callen raised his gun at Sam, "You can't be my friend so don't even try. Dallas and the boys know you had something to do with Ma and Kaylee's' death, ya gonna stay here till ya confess then the boys will make you pay."

Sam sighed as he saw the turmoil in the other man's eyes.

"Keep talking to him Sam." Hetty prompted, "Get him to trust you. If he can be turned away he would make a great asset. He has it in him to be a good agent like his mother was."

* * *

"You don't look like Dallas." Sam commented, "You two real brothers?" he asked.

"In every way that counts." Callen replied honestly, "Dallas helped me when I needed someone and he never lied to me. He is my family."

"So… not blood then?"

"Family isn't blood." Callen snapped, "It's people who are there for you when you need them. People who don't judge or lie or betray you."

"Like you thought Hetty did?" Sam voiced before he could stop it.

Callen nearly dropped the gun he was holding, "You know Hetty?" he asked in surprise.

Sam smiled, "I work with her. She's worried about you, she's sorry."

Callen shook his head, "No, she's not. She doesn't care. If she did, she would have told me the truth and saved me, not left me to rot in the system. She wasn't there… Dallas was."

Sam listened to the words Hetty said in his ear, not believing that this man, alone, in a basement of an Aryan Brotherhood stronghold, was so important to the small woman whom he worked for.

"Hetty knew she did wrong in not finding you sooner. She should have told you all she knew about your past and your mother. She regrets that. She needs you to know that everything she did, she did to keep you safe from your mother's enemies. She watched over you your whole life, moving you when the homes you were placed in got too bad, or when the enemies of your mother's family got too close to finding you. All she wants is for you to forgive her, to let me go and let me take you to her." Sam said, stunned at what he was hearing. "You have so much potential in your life, it could be so much more, all you have to do is trust me."

Callen's hand on his gun wavered for a moment, "How do I know you didn't just overhear the name Hetty and are lying to me?" He asked suspiciously.

Sam waited, for a moment…"My right ear, I'm wearing a communications device. I'm a federal Agent, I work with Hetty. Take it out and put it in your ear, she's listening." He held his breath, hoping it would work and the younger man in front of him would not shoot him.

Callen took the rifle and rested it against the wall. The man was tied up so he was in no danger; if he could find out more information for Dallas he would be doing a good thing, right? He shrugged as the thoughts went through him.

"Ok, but don't ya'll try nothing." He warned as he took a step towards the larger man.

Sam smiled, "I'm tied up remember. Just take the earwig out and put it in your ear, she'll be able to hear you." he prompted.

"If ya lying to me, I'm gonna shoot you." Callen warned, "Still not sure I might not do it anyway." He added as an afterthought with a smirk playing on his lips. Reaching into Sam's ear, he took out the small communication device and placed it in his own ear.

* * *

"Hello?" He said tentatively thinking that it was still a trick.

"Mr. Callen…" Hetty's voice sounded the same as it had all those years ago.

"So, you ain't dead, then old woman." Callen retorted as Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise, this racist man really knew the diminutive operations manager.

"No G, I'm not." Hetty replied.

Callen shook his head, "That ain't my name no more, I'm Cal now… was gonna be Callen Alder, but I guess you know that didn't happen. Why is your guy in my basement? Did you have something to do with Ma and Kaylee's deaths?" He asked, his hands fisting tightly as he waited a reply.

"My man is there to stop you from making a huge mistake." Hetty said keeping her voice even. In the operations center, Nell and Eric watched as Hetty, who had taken Nell's chair, stared intently at the scene playing out before them. Deeks had gone in a few days earlier and placed small cameras around the room so they could not only hear the conversations but see what was going on as well.

"They killed them…" Callen argued, "You don't know what… how much I…" Callen paced, wanting to tell her how much they had meant to him but not finding the words.

"I know Mr. Callen, I know how much you wanted… no, needed this, but this is not the life you were meant to live. You were meant to do great things, not live with so much hatred in your life."

Callen stopped and let out a sour laugh, "My life was over the moment I was dropped at an orphanage with no name. The second no one wanted me. The moment they killed my mother and you didn't save me. The moment I realized you knew all about me and my mother and lied to me." He paced back and forth as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. "All I ever wanted was a family. You made sure I never got that."

"Mr. Callen, I beg you… please let my operative go, he will take the other men and they will be tried for their crimes." Hetty held her breath, knowing that somewhere in the same building, Deeks was listening to the whole conversation.

"I…" Callen wavered for a moment as a large crash came from upstairs as Deeks, Kensi and Renko entered the building. Callen moved to grab the gun.

"Don't Callen." Sam begged.

"You lied… _again_ you lied…" Callen yelled, his eyes smarting as he grabbed the rifle and pointed it at Sam.

In Ops, Hetty clasped at her heart as her team and an FBI back up team burst in the bar.

* * *

Upstairs in the bar Dallas turned to Deeks in surprise, "Max?"

Deeks held his gun on him, "Dallas Alder, you're under arrest for kidnapping and murder." He said as Dallas raised his hands.

"You won't be able to stop us." Dallas warned, "We will rid the world of them and make the world a better place for decent folks to live."

Deeks gave a small barked laugh, "It will be a better place for decent folks as soon as you're back behind bars."

Deeks nodded to Kensi and Mike, who, along with the FBI headed in the direction he was indicating.

"Sam's downstairs, the others are in the basement as well."

"Come on." Renko called to the backup team with him. "Kensi you help Deeks up here."

"Got it boss." Kensi replied as she moved to help.

Renko and the FBI team headed down the stairs…

* * *

In the basement, Sam was desperately trying to save Callen. "Put the gun down Callen," Sam begged, "You've lost, you're being raided, you don't have to carry on you can change."

"Why?" Callen asked, "What hope do I get? You're taking my family away from me, the only family that ever cared."

"Mr. Callen please!" Hetty begged, "Put down the gun, let the team take Mr. Hanna back. This is not what I wanted for you when we first met, this was not supposed to be your life."

"FBI FREEZE!" A voice behind him ordered.

"Callen please, listen to Hetty." Sam begged.

The gun wavered as Callen considered his words. Then he gave an imperceptible shake of his head, followed by a loud bang and intense pain.

" _ **CALLEN!**_ "

" _ **G!**_ " The voices were screaming in his ears as he fell to the floor feeling blood oozing from a fatal wound in his back.


	14. Chapter 14

"Callen!"

"G?"

The voices came again, along with a lot of pain, though strangely enough not in his back as he expected but in his shoulders and his head. Callen blinked as he woke up, his head bandaged and pain throbbing.

"G… come on man, come back to us."

"Dallas?" he asked groggily.

"Dallas?" Sam's voice cut through the gloom, "You're waking up finally and you're asking for the cheerleaders?"

"What?" Callen asked confused. He moved, the cannula in his hand pulling as he tried to lift himself up. He opened his eyes and groaned as Sam sat next to his bed. "Am I under arrest?" He asked.

Sam looked over at Hetty who was sat silently in the corner, "How hard did he hit his head?" he asked with a slight smirk, relieved his partner was finally awake.

"My head's just fine." Callen snapped, then he groaned as pain shot through his head. "Ow! What happened? Did I get shot?" he asked.

"Nope, building blew up." Sam replied.

"Where's Dallas?" Callen asked, worried.

"Texas?" Sam asked.

Callen glared at him, "Don't be funny; Dallas Alder, where is he?"

"Still in prison I guess." Sam looked over worried at Callen, something seemed off. "Why you so worried about him?"

"I…" Callen looked at Sam, "You're the fed? You killed…damn…" Callen's hands reached up to rub away the pain in his head.

"G?" Sam looked worried, "Of course I'm a federal Agent, you are too remember? You're my partner…my brother…" He stopped as Callen flinched, an angry look crossing his face.

Hetty moved as she listened to the conversation.

"Mr. Callen, can you tell me what you remember?" She asked.

"You lied to me…you came into my life at fifteen and you betrayed me." The hurt in his voice was unmistakable, "Dallas was there when I was in prison after the cops arrested me for stealing that car and escaping from Juvie."

"You were _never_ arrested." Hetty told him, "I was there when the car hit the light pole and I took you in, you called me short and I told you that you had potential, you were taken from the system and given a fresh start with me."

Sam, although he had heard some of the story, was surprised to hear it confirmed by Hetty.

Callen shook his head and winced with the pain, "You _weren't_ there, I was arrested, I went through hell that made juvie seem like a summer camp. I met you just before I was gonna get released. You left me in Fulsome and it if wasn't for Dallas I'd be dead."

Hetty sighed, she knew that if she had not been there for Callen on that day, he probably would have ended up in Fulsome. "Stay there while I get a doctor Mr. Callen." She said and stood up.

Callen sighed, "So _I am_ under arrest." he said to himself and closed his eyes. Ma and Kaylee were dead, Dallas was back in prison and he had lost everything. Maybe his life would have been better if Hetty had been there when he crashed that car, maybe his life would not have been destroyed.

* * *

Sam watched his partner carefully, he was unsure what was going on in that head of his partner and friend, but he was not happy with the looks of distrust and hatred he was throwing in his direction. This was not his brother, this was a stranger, but Callen knew who he was, so he had not lost his memory. What had happened in that building to make Callen suddenly hate him so much?

Callen did not understand; there were two sets of memories warring in his head, the feelings of loss and hurt and hatred he had lived with for most of his life with Dallas. Then there were the memories that were newly knocking on the door of his head; meals with Sam, his wife and children. Being Uncle Callen, spending days with Kamran and Aiden as part of Sam's family. Memories of Hetty reading to him, drinking tea and discussing their day. Sitting in the bullpen, Sam smiling over at his partner…partner? He was a cop?

No, that could never be right that _he_ was a federal agent. _**Him?!**_ The kid no one wanted, the reject…the prison…?

Again Callen shook his head, he had never been in prison, not as himself. The memories, the dream, whatever it was faded. Harder for him to let go of were the feelings of love and family he had remembered getting from Ginny and Kaylee.

Hetty had been there, he had run from Juvenile hall, stolen a car and crashed it into a pole. He had never been taken and thrown into jail, he had been saved, by her. She had been there for him when he had needed her the most.

Hetty walked back in with the doctor, "Mr Callen, the doctor and I am concerned about your memory."

He wanted to snap that his memory was fine, but deep down he knew it was far from fine; something was off.

"I…I'm not sure what's going on, what's real and what isn't." Callen admitted. "I look at him…Sam, and I know I trust him, but a part of me hates him."

Sam looked stricken at that revelation, "G?"

Callen shook his head, "No. I just need some time, please?" He asked, not looking at Sam or Hetty.

The doctor stood looking at the uncomfortable young man in the bed and feeling for him, quietly asked the others to leave.

Not liking the request, Hetty and Sam did as they were asked, only they moved from Callen's room to the corridor.

* * *

"Mr. Callen, I am Dr. Sharon Barrett. I'm a therapist of sorts, I wondered if you would feel comfortable talking to me?"

Callen looked up at her, a small, sardonic smile play at the corner of his mouth, "Not really." He replied, "But then, it would be less uncomfortable than this…wouldn't it?"

Sharon smiled kindly, "I promise not to bite." She replied and waited as Callen leaned back to gather his thoughts.

He sat and told her what he remembered, about how he had been incarcerated in Fulsome and had met Dallas. Telling her about how the thoughts and feelings, the whole experience had seemed incredibly real to him.

Then he had explained how Hetty had actually been present when he struck the light pole with the stolen car. How she had taken him in and helped him through to college and steered him in the right direction teaching him to trust.

"And what about Sam?" Sharon asked as Callen was starting to tire.

Callen shrugged, "He's my partner, my friend…what I felt when I woke up is starting to fade, it's not me Doc, I'm not racist. Hell, Sam's family is my family! But…it was…" He shook his head, "Could I have really been like that? Is it in me?"

Sharon smiled indulgently, "Some people are the products of their circumstances, Ms Lange was there when you needed her the most. You learned to trust, to start letting people in. You met Sam and the team and learned about family. If you had gone down the other road, maybe you would have turned out like that. After all you did tell me the racist attitude you thought as normal was learned behavior."

"Yeah, I picked it up after being attacked in Fulsome." Callen told her.

"Yet you weren't in Fulsome and you were not attacked." Sharon reminded him.

Callen nodded, "But it felt so real, what I felt for Ginny and Kaylee…"

"They didn't exist." Sharon reminded him, "But the feeling of hope, of wanting to be a part of a family that wanted you, that still persists."

"I have that…I have my team, Hetty, Sam, my...my father?" Callen looked away as the last word sounded hollow even to him.

Dr. Barrett caught it, "You are not close with your father?" she asked.

Callen shrugged, "I don't really know him, he just came into my life a few months ago. I am still trying to find my feet there." He admitted.

"What about your mother?" Sharon asked, gently prodding.

Callen shook his head, "I never knew her, she died when I was young; I was raised in the system."

Sharon nodded as she started to understand, "So the feelings of family you felt for Kaylee and Ginny were real longings?"

Callen shrugged, "I don't know, I've never really…" He trailed off, he wanted to say he never really needed a mother, it was his fallback response to that question. But maybe he was wrong, maybe his subconscious knew he needed a mother figure and a substitute for Amy, was that where Kaylee and Ginny had come from?

Sharon waited, she watched him processing the question and wondered if he would verbalize what he was thinking, some patients did and some did not. It always made things easier though when they did.

"Maybe…" Callen sighed as he lay back, his head was pounding again and he closed his eyes, hoping it would ease the pain.

"I looked through your file; around the time you were fifteen you left the system and went into a stable home environment didn't you?" She asked.

Callen nodded, "Hetty…she took me in, I worked hard, went to college and turned out ok."

"And why did you stay there as opposed to moving on like your other placements?"

He thought for a moment, what had it been about Hetty that had made him stay rather than run or go back to the system.

"She trusted me." Callen said softly.

For a moment Sharon was taken aback; in these situations, it usually transpired that the patient had learned to trust, but in Callen's case this was not what had happened.

"Excuse me?" She asked not believing what she had just heard.

"She trusted me; no one had done that before." Callen let out a small, barely audible, happy sigh. "She took me into her home, she had no expectations of me, except that I try to be more than I was, to fulfill my potential. Not once did she hurt me or..." He left the rest unsaid, but Sharon understood.

"She didn't let you down." She supplied helpfully.

Callen nodded, "She paid my way through college, supported me in my career choices, and then eventually I joined her at N…" He stopped, not knowing how much she was cleared for.

Sharon smiled, "I am cleared Mr. Callen, I know you work for the Office of Special Projects division of NCIS."

Callen nodded, he should have known that whoever he would talk to, Hetty would have cleared them first.

"He only wish was that I would find my home."

"Did you not find that as a child, living with her?" Sharon asked surprise creeping into her voice. After what Callen had described, she had assumed that they were a family unit, especially by the way Hetty had talked about him and shown her concern for him.

Callen was unable to meet her eyes for a moment. "I didn't, not because she didn't try but because I was…uncertain…about letting her in. If I had done that and had a home, I might have let go of the hope of finding my real mother someday and finding out who I was. I didn't want to betray my mother like that."

"I can understand," Sharon said, "You felt like if you let anyone into the role of Mother in your life, then if you found out who your mother was, she would resent you for it?"

Callen nodded, "But Hetty has always been there for me, looking out for my best interests and really was like a mother to me." He admitted.

Sharon smiled slightly, "And Sam?" she prodded.

For a moment Callen closed off, then he sighed, "Sam is my brother, my best friend…his family is my family, they accepted me. Just…for a few moments when I woke up I forgot that, the feelings from my dream were so real."

"Would Sam have really, in either reality hurt someone you care about?" Sharon asked.

Callen shook his head, "I don't think so, even in my dream he was trying to help me, I suppose even messed up in the head I didn't want to let go of the bond I have with him. I trust Sam, more than I have ever trusted anyone."

"Ok, that's good Callen, but I have one question…why Dallas?" Sharon asked curiously. "Why do you think you dreamt about being a part of _his_ family."

Callen sighed, laid his head back and looked at the ceiling, "I was undercover for a while, we had to infiltrate the gang, it…they felt like family. There was this kid, Charlie…he had the same kind of start in life I did, but he didn't have Hetty, or the chances I did. I couldn't help him…he died, I should have done more. The building we were in, before it blew up, it was where Charlie died a year ago. I don't think the others remembered, but I did."

"You empathized with this young man?" Sharon asked.

"I guess." Callen replied, "Do you think Sam will forgive me, for what I said when I woke up?"

Sharon nodded, "I think he will, I think he's more worried about you than he lets on."

She looked towards the frosted glass of the door and following her gaze, Callen saw the silhouette of Sam's form pacing outside the room.

"How long have you been partners?" She asked.

Callen smiled, "Ten years, the day of the explosion."

She closed the file on her lap, "I think that's something to celebrate don't you?" she asked, "Ten years being around a real family, it is amazing if you think about it." she mused, "One small change and your life could have been just like your dream." She stopped her hand on the door handle as the was leaving, "I am very glad you never had that change, _and_ that I got to meet you Mr. Callen."

Callen smiled, "Thank you Dr. Barrett."

She opened the door and Callen was surprised to see Sam, Hetty and the rest of the team all looking in.

"Doc, you had better let my family in, looks like they are going nuts waiting out there." Callen announced, loud enough so they could hear. His heart glowed with the warm smiles he got from them in response.

He watched as they all settled in various spots in his room, each in their own way, showing they cared by fussing around him.

Sharon Barrett had been right, he was extremely lucky that Hetty had been there that day, it was one pivotal moment in his life he would never regret.


End file.
